


Eddie Kaspbrak, Witch

by stitchy



Category: IT (1990), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Adventure, Bewitched AU with a dash of D&D and Gaiman influence, Camp, Falling In Love, Fluff, Getting Together, Humor, M/M, Magic, Magical Realism, POV Eddie Kaspbrak, Supernatural Beings, Witch Eddie Kaspbrak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:49:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27303685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stitchy/pseuds/stitchy
Summary: Witch Eddie Kaspbrak has lived in Derry for a very long, very lonely time. Meeting a lively mortal man who comes and goes as he pleases might finally change all that.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 105
Kudos: 183





	1. Chapter 1

-

The Nineties are usually Eddie’s favorite decade of any given century- anticipatory, but also as lingering as a Friday afternoon. This particular decade, there are no particular omens on the rise, nor stars about to align, just funny little people and their last ditch schemes to define their age with achievement. On this particular _actual_ Friday afternoon, Eddie has plenty of time to spend at the optometrist trying to find a nice pair of frames.

There are rows and rows of the things, all balanced on tiny shelves lining the wall in a display taller than he is. There are those gilt in gold and silver of course, inlaid shell and sparkly plastic, and something that looks very like bone but couldn’t be, considering modern squeamishness and ivory’s recent fall from favor. Eddie tuts as he passes those over. More and more of the world is becoming artificial, it would seem. Not that plastic doesn’t have its uses! It’s just that he already spends enough time pretending, as it is. He’s the one responsible for what dealings the Kaspbrak coven must do in the outside world. Grocery clerks, bankers and tax men, librarians, door to door salesladies with pink boxes full of cosmetics- all of them under the impression they have met another mild mannered mortal such as themselves. It's always more draining than it is invigorating to have someone new to talk to.

He passes over another row of clunky looking glasses, then another, shifting from foot to foot as smooth and silent as only lifetimes of practice will allow. He’s very good at not being noticeable to _them._ Come to think of it, maybe that’s why it’s so hard to pick something that stands out. It goes against all instinct!

“Aha!”

Finally Eddie spies a collection of metalworked frames that are intended for gentlemen. Wide, squared off shapes, to match this era’s tailoring. There’s a particular pair with a light touch that he takes from the display. He tests the spring of the arms and the make of the joints, then slips them in place. Unfortunately, the mirror mounted into the display is much too small to get the full picture. How can he tell if the shape works for him when he can’t even see all his hair and chin? He’ll have to make it larger.

Eddie glances left to the front desk. The lady there is occupied with her work. He glances right, and bumps into a sunglassed customer standing too close to him.

“Oh my stars!” Eddie spits out.

“Sorry,” says the other man, jumping back. “Didn’t mean to sneak up on ya. My depth perception’s shot!” He hangs back at a respectable distance, all tall and smirky, with an earring and a hands-in-pockets air of casual cool that makes Eddie stammer. 

“D-do you... think these frames look all right?” He touches the rim.

The man hooks a finger to pull his own shades down his nose and squint at Eddie. _“Are_ you wearing glasses right now?” he asks. As his eyes are revealed, it's obvious he’s just come from some sort of procedure that required dilation. Just a thin rim of blue rings his pupils.

“I’m sorry, you must be recovering,” Eddie apologizes.

A grin creeps out from under the cover of the man’s trim little mustache. “At the moment you’re a deadringer for a peach! But if you look half as adorable as you sound, I doubt the frames matter...” 

Eddie whips off the glasses, hoping that his blush is no more visible than any other distinguishing feature. “Well, I could keep the ones I have! My prescription hasn’t changed in years.”

“Lucky duck,” the man laughs, with no idea how very long those years have been. How _boring._ Then he says something very interesting. “I don’t know what changes quicker, my eyes or my address! It’s been easier to just come back here once a year than to find a new peeper keeper.”

“You’re a traveler?” Eddie goes as glittery eyed as his new acquaintance. He’s always stayed here, in Derry. All these years, he stood still while time marched past.

“Yeah, you might say that.” The man holds out a hand. “Richie Tozier, ramblin’ man! At your service!”

“Edward Kaspbrak, witch _canbeshortenedtoEddie_.” He almost forgets himself in a moment of exhilaration. Eddie looks at his hand still held in Richie’s after shaking and clears his throat. “No one calls me that yet, but I always thought it might be nice.”

 _“Eddie,”_ Richie delights at the special privilege. “I’ll call ya anything ya like if you’ll call me a cab!”

“Do you need a ride?” Eddie blinks up at Richie. Something strange comes over him, something bold and full chested. “I could drive you.”

“Well, yeah, but that was a goof- I don’t mean to impose!”

Eddie shakes his head. “It’s no trouble!”

“-Otherwise I’ll have to walk to the library and wait until my friend finishes work-“

“Well then, I insist!” says Eddie. “You walked right into me when I was just standing there, there’s no telling the trouble you could get into in the busy street.”

Realistically, Eddie can either help ferry Richie to where he belongs now, or get stuck sorting out his ghost, down the line. With another flash of that grin he knows which he’d prefer.

“More trouble than getting into a stranger’s car?” Richie chuckles. “Does your offer at least come with candy?”

Eddie’s brow wrinkles. He’s being teased and he knows it, and he knows how to show Richie up. With a twitch of his nose, he summons a few lollipops from the receptionist’s desk to hand and brandishes them in Richie’s face. “As a matter of fact,” he smirks.

Honestly! What witch worth his salt couldn’t produce a candy lure?

Richie takes the lollipops from him with a little bow. “Then I accept. But you were in the middle of picking new glasses...?”

“I think these will do,” Eddie quickly decides. The pair that initiated their meeting must be compatible with charms of one sort or another!

“They’re the best looking glasses I’ve _never_ seen!”

They each settle up with the front desk, Eddie to inform them of his selection, and Richie to retrieve insurance paperwork. It’ll be a week or two until Eddie’s new glasses are ready, so he draws the old pair from his breast pocket as they make their way out to his ever evolving Cadillac (which was once a stagecoach, once a Model T, sometimes broom, and briefly a motorbike with a sidecar for his cat Fudge). 

“This one here.” Eddie unlocks the passenger door for Richie with a twitch of his finger, then remembers he ought to at least pretend to do it by key.

“Aw geez,” Richie winces at the sunlight. He visors his hands over his eyes, then fans them at his face. “Nothing to see here, just a grown man waterin’ up!”

“Oh dear,” Eddie pulls a kerchief from his sleeve and offers it to Richie. “You know, I always cry at happy endings,” he confides.

Richie dabs his eyes dry while Eddie goes through his charade with the lock. “Ah,” he says. “That explains it, then!”

Eddie withdraws his skeleton key with a jolt. “Explains what!?”

The door swings open and Richie swoons into the seat like an ingenue, kerchief clutched to his brow. “Aren’t we about to ride off into the sunset together?” he points out.

The sherbet colored sky reflects back at Eddie in his sunglasses, pink and promising.

“Oh!” Eddie’s heart flips without his permission. “I suppose so.”

He circles around to the driver’s side and slides in, minding that he goes through all the motions to start the engine the mortal way, and take command of the vehicle rather than sit back and let it drive itself. Thankfully, Richie is still tending his sensitive eyes as Eddie fiddles with the radio. There’s nothing on the waves that he likes, so he’ll just have to pick his own music. Perhaps some Saint-Saëns, nice and low? He zaps the knob under the cover of a cough.

“Ooo! Moody,” Richie comments. “Really though, thanks for the lift. It’s good knowing there’re still people like you out there- and I don’t just mean people who listen to classical radio.”

“Mmm. A few, here and there,” Eddie hums to himself. “So, where are you going?”

Richie points in the direction of the main drag through town. “Head towards State Street.”

No sooner said than done. Eddie takes a left out of the parking lot.

“And where have you been? If you don’t mind my asking...”

“All over the country!” Richie declares, not minding a bit. “Each and every state up the eastern seaboard, all of the west coast, and a dozen or more in between-”

“So you’ve driven cross country?” The last time Eddie pulled that off, the place was only three hundred miles wide. Ever since Salem, his mother preferred that he not go too far afield.

“Just once. I fly a lot,” says Richie. “I love to fly.”

Eddie too, but not like he means. The only planes he’s been on are the Astral and Material. He rattles his brain for the sort of thing that a mortal _would_ say.

“What do you do for work?”

 _“Can’t you tell?”_ Richie croons, an octave lower than before. “I'm a full time yakker, quacker, wisecracker!”

“Oh!” Eddie grips the steering wheel to assert a little certainty. The car ignores his erroneous attempt to veer off the road. “What does that mean exactly?”

“Voice acting! I do cartoons... ads...” Richie cups his hands around his mouth. _“Rrrradiooo!_ ”

“Ah, I see!”

“All the stuff the Hollywood pretty boys won’t stoop to.”

What a comedian! He’s plenty good looking. Since the car has everything under control, Eddie sneaks a glance at Richie again, just to prove him wrong.

Richie catches his eye, though his expression is unreadable under sunglasses. “What about you?”

“Hmm?”

“What do you do, when you’re not operating as a pro bono taxi service?”

Oh, right! Mortals ask that same question _back_.

“I- I- well, you wouldn’t find it very interesting...”

“I just told you I’m a professional faker, didn’t I?” Richie twists in his seat and rests his arm along the back. “Try me.”

Again, Eddie has to remind himself to keep up the appearance that he’s in control of the car, no matter how suddenly he’s been struck with the impulse to let a sharp turn slingshot him across the seat, into Richie’s side. Something tells him that aside from being scared to death, Richie might not mind the presumption.

“Well, my family does consulting, and- _you know-_ investing, to get by,” he tells Richie.

Richie nods and strokes his mustache. “What kind of consulting?”

 _“Special_ consulting,” Eddie says. He knows that’s not a real answer, but he’s trying to think how to put it honestly. “When someone dies- unexpectedly especially- there are all sorts of questions,” he says. “We try to answer them.”

“Like detectives?”

Eddie laughs. Imagine Sonia Kaspbrak in a deerstalker! _“Not_ like detectives.”

“Like funeral directors?”

“Hmm, not quite.” Though there’s probably _some_ overlap in the job description, Eddie thinks. “More like counselors.”

Tending to the spirit realm is more of a curse than a calling, but it does pass the time.

In any case, that seems to satisfy Richie. “All right, I can see that!" he says. "You’re a real sweetheart to the downtrodden, if you don’t mind my saying.”

“Well, you’re an easy case,” Eddie smiles.

Richie perks up and looks around the intersection. “Take a right after that park on the corner,” he points. “Then your next left. Hey, you’d probably like this short story I just read!”

“Would I?”

“It’s all about ghosts and grief and lost potential.”

“Sounds familiar.”

They must be close to their destination. As they take the first turn, Eddie’s stomach sinks. Talk about lost potential. It’s so rare he talks at length to someone alive, let alone so _lively,_ someone who stirs him up inside like this. Maybe if he misses the next turn on purpose, they can steal a few more minutes together.

Then Richie points at the left turn and surprises him. “You should come inside and borrow it!”

So Eddie follows Richie up the porch steps of a house that he explains belongs to a friend, one kind enough to play host when he visits his old hometown. Every inch of it fascinates Eddie with its modernity. Mother hasn’t updated her fashion in centuries, nevermind that of the furnishings at home. He tries not to gawp at the television set and all the other household electronics Mother won’t allow, but falters long enough that Richie takes hold of his elbow to move him along. Eddie happily allows himself to be ushered into a kitchen completely free of cauldrons. Instead of swirling bottles and wrought iron, this hearth is dressed with green gingham and bright boxes of branded cereal. It’s warm and inviting and likeable, and though it may not be Richie’s own home, Eddie likes the way he fusses to make him comfortable, too. 

“Can I get you a drink? There’s lemonade and lots of tea,” he offers. “I think Mikey’s got a secret stash of Yoo-hoo around here somewhere!” A chair skids out from the table as Richie whirls around him on his way to the sink. “Take a load off!”

“Tea would be wonderful, thank you.”

Eddie takes off his suit coat and folds it to his lap as he sits, rapt. There’s a big jar in the middle of the kitchen table filled with little paper packets. Earl Grey. Lemon & Spice. Cinnamon Apple. Orange. They’re all a marvel to Eddie. He’s never had someone make him tea from a _bag_ before.

Richie fills a kettle for the stove and then eyeballs Eddie’s selection, having finally reunited with his regular glasses. “Cinnamon? Don’t mind if I do!” he says, fishing out another packet. He fits the lid back on the jar with a hop, a swoop of his arm, and a “ _Whabam! Two points!_ ”

For what, Eddie has no idea. There’s all sorts of customs he’s behind on. He gets out to the movies every so often, but that doesn’t account for everything mortals find amusing. Speaking for his own amusement, Eddie can’t recall ever being so entranced. He’s met one or two who put the ‘wit’ in ‘witch’, but no one who sparkles quite like _Richie._ Their chance meeting is a revelation.

“So, you’re from Derry originally?”

“Oh yeah, go Lumberjacks!” Richie roots with a fist. “Grew up on the north end of Old Country Road before they made it into a strip mall.”

“I remember that.”

Eddie remembers when the settlers first cleared the rugged land for the road, too. Rakes and timbers and paving stones, piled all throughout town to build a connective tissue between the few who dared to tame the wilderness. Little did they know who’s protective aura had drawn them to this land to begin with.

“You too?”

“All my life,” says Eddie. “I’ve never strayed very far, I’m afraid.

“Well, I keep finding myself back, so it can’t be all bad. S’certainly gorgeous.”

“Yes! The mountains,” Eddie supplies.

Richie leans back against the kitchen counter and grins at him. “Those too.”

These little packets of tea are fascinating, in fact. Eddie flips his around in his hands and reads every word, feels the crimping of the edge. Anything to delay acknowledging the growing certainty that this mortal man finds Eddie as interesting as he does. Like the world beyond Derry, he has no idea what lays on the other side of that threshold.

Apparently Richie is also at odds with his capacity to concentrate on their stated objective. Before he forgets, he excuses himself to grab the book he promised Eddie. He dashes away and stomps up and down some stairs and returns, not with a book, but with a sheaf of unbound pages. Eddie takes them eagerly and flips through them by thumb. All the pages are facsimiles from a book, _The Well House,_ but with pencil marks throughout and an adjective or two scribbled in the margins of each paragraph.

“This copy has my notes, so if you could return it to me afterward...”

A guaranteed future meeting!

“Of course!” Eddie lays the story on his lap with his folded coat. “How long are you in town?”

“I’ll be around in the afternoon, tomorrow. Me and Mike are gonna drown some worms in the morning! Then the day after tomorrow I’ll be flying out to England-“

“England?” Eddie frowns. That certainly cuts things short.

“Just for a few days. I’ll be back on the 16th. I’ve got a few meetings with the author,” Richie says, gesturing to _The Well House._ “I’m gonna be doing books on tape of his whole series. Eight books so far!”

The kettle whistles, as impressed as Eddie. 

“That ought to keep you busy.”

Richie goes to turn off the stove and fetch some cups.

“Yeah! As long as the contract doesn’t go belly up. Then I’ll be in the market for someplace to put down roots for a while, to record.”

“Oh. Here in Derry?”

“Maybe!” Richie delivers two brimming mugs to the table and lets Eddie select his own, sculpted in the shape of an owl. “It’s gotta be quiet with decent rent,” he explains. “But other than that, I haven’t decided yet. Maybe I’ll head out to the middle of the desert. Maybe I’ll finally get up to Alaska, park myself on an iceberg for a few months! Or maybe once I see England- who knows!”

Eddie follows Richie’s lead, dunking his tea bag. “Oh, that sounds like such an adventure, going wherever you like! Someplace strange and new! I must be in the wrong line of business.”

Across the table, Richie sits back in his chair with a shrewd look. “Couldn’t you do what you do anywhere? I mean, death’s not a _local_ industry.”

“I suppose you’re right. Hmm.”

Richie splashes a spoonful of sugar into his cup with deadpan domesticity one moment, then trills musically in the next, blowing it cool.

“How are you- that sounds just like a bird!”

Richie tips up his chin from his teacup to demonstrate. “You have to whistle over your bottom lip, but _across_ the water,” he explains.

When Eddie tries it he sprays tea clear out of the cup. Brown spots the white squares of the tablecloth as though a wheel just spun out in mud.

“Oh dear!”

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” Richie laughs, quickly blotting the stain with a napkin.

Beneath the table, Eddie casts an unobserved cleaning spell, of course. “I should have left the sound effects to the professional,” he says. “Oh look! It’s coming up. It should dry all right.”

Eddie’s owl mug winks at him.

“Don’t worry! I’ll take the heat when Mike gets in.” Richie rolls the used napkin into a ball between his palms. “Should be back any minute now, it’s almost seven o’clock.”

“Is it?” Eddie pushes up his cuff to check his watch. “Oh my stars...”

He’s always a bit thrown off after the equinox. As Mother prefers to sustain herself supernaturally these days, he’s usually on his own for supper, as long as he’s home by dark- but that’s earlier and earlier now. Stepping out early to dine before his eye appointment has fouled up his internal timing, and getting caught up in a flirtation didn’t help.

Richie stops what he’s doing. “Aw, you’re not splittin’ already, are ya?” 

“I’m sorry.” Eddie stands, gathering his things. “I’m enjoying myself, it’s just I have to, ah, assist my mother this evening. She’ll be waiting.”

“Oh! Yeah! Maybe another time?” Richie joins Eddie on his feet.

“I’ll be back with your story,” Eddie assures him. “Tomorrow?”

“When you have a little more time?” Richie asks hopefully.

“Right."

They could get dinner together. Yes. That’s what Eddie will do. He’ll read the story and he’ll think of someplace to invite Richie tomorrow. Perhaps if it goes well, Richie will choose to stay in Derry after his trip and see him again. If not, he’ll be back eventually. Eddie can be patient, like the others of his long-lived kind.

“I’ll walk you out.”

Eddie follows Richie back through the hall and the sitting room, to the door they came in. Outside the sky is purpling and a wind swoops in to unfurl the evening. The trees creak, as do the porch steps. It feels natural that they gravitate close to each other in the chilly air, as they wander down to the car. They stop beside it, and Richie sways close. Close enough that Eddie need only extend his fingers from the arm that holds his coat, and then they would touch. It could seem like an accident at first, Eddie’s hand curling at Richie’s arm. Then when he's sure-

“Huh.” Richie cranes his neck to check inside the car. “Who knew they made these old honeys with powder blue interiors!”

“What?” Eddie looks where he’s looking, and lo’ and behold, the vain thing has changed the color of its upholstery to match Eddie’s shirt now that he’s taken off a layer. “It was always blue.” Eddie kicks the wheel lightly.

“I could have sworn it was beige before...”

“You had the sunglasses on,” Eddie says quickly. “And your eyes were all screwy, and-“

Richie chuckles and straightens out again. He peers down at Eddie with a curious twist of a smile. “And you didn’t notice until just now how beautiful they are?”

“No!” Eddie blurts. “I mean, they _are.”_ He can’t pretend otherwise when they land on him like this. “They’re kind and clever and pretty-“

“Not nearly as pretty as you, darlin’.” Now Richie’s fingers reach for him, and not like an accident. They smooth up the blue sleeve of his shirt, slipping from his elbow to his shoulder. “I knew you would be. Not that that’s all I’m after, mind you.”

Eddie blinks up at him. “You did shake me down for candy.”

“Mmm. Sweet,” Richie says. “And kinda... spooky.”

“Spooky?”

Richie tilts his head like he’s reading a twisting route on a map. “There’s something different about you, Eddie. Something-”

Before Richie can expound on that, Eddie leans into him, filled with delight and urgency. As their lips meet, his ever-living heart hammers like never before, like he didn’t _know_ it could do. Fingers scratch into his nape and lock them together in the kiss, tender and deep. It’s lovely! It’s terrifying! It’s entirely unintended, but his feet leave the ground for a moment! What a good thing Richie holds him as close as he does, and Eddie’s instinct to keep near him is even more powerful magic.

When they pull apart, Richie looks at him in wonder. For a moment, Eddie thinks he’ll kiss him again. He hopes so.

Richie wets his lip. “Don’t suppose you believe in love at first blur, do you?” 

A laugh bubbles out of Eddie. He believes in all sorts of things a man like Richie would never entertain. Things that come out when the stars do. “I... I really do have to go,” he says softly. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Good night,” Richie says, matching him. He kisses Eddie’s cheek, whiskery and warm. It tickles him all the way home.

-


	2. Chapter 2

The Kaspbrak house is slightly easier to see than to approach. It stands in a valley between two hilltops, where several of the oldest homes in Derry can be found. On the way to one of those, one might glance down over the edge of the road and think one is looking at an abandoned shack, as no road serves that valley. It’s densely packed with ancient trees and outcroppings of rock that make the area pretty to look at, but treacherous to travel. There are no telephone poles, and at night no light ever shines in the house’s few windows. Upon consideration, one might wonder if perhaps a landslide carried the house down the mountain. It only has three exterior walls and a roof, after all, as if the rest of its structure nests in the mountain itself. Thick green foliage masks the join, where earth meets shingled architecture, and the stone chimney is quite crooked. Few see the smoke that chimney puffs, and those who do dismiss it as a patch of fog. No one notices the the carefully tended garden skirting the building. If the land had _really_ been lost or abandoned, the beanpoles and chicken coop wouldn’t have survived. The pumpkins wouldn’t grow in so neat a row. A little black cat would not have such perfectly manicured stepping stones to nap upon.

Of course, there is a reason for this obscurity. The Kaspbrak house is not where the Kaspbraks first lived upon arriving in the New World- the Kaspbrak garage is! These days it’s all concrete identical to the neighboring garage, but once upon a time, it was a cave. A stone floor is essential for witchcraft, you see. As time stretched on, so did the floorplan, and Franciszek and Sonja Kaspbrak carved deeper and deeper into the mountain until they popped through the other side. The little house that can be seen in the valley is merely a Georgian era addition.

Eddie never bothered to put a remote control on the garage door. Why would he? He wiggles his nose and it yawns open on command, welcoming him home. With another twitch, the car window rolls down, and the mail in the mailbox sails through the air and comes to rest on the passenger seat. He parks in the dark antechamber that was once his family home, and gathers his things to take inside.

His snapping fingers echo down the passage ahead of him and light dozens of candelabras built into the walls. The sound summons Fudge. She streaks out of the dark, black out of black, straight for Eddie’s feet.

“Yes, hello,” he greets, as she rubs around his ankles in a figure eight.

Reproachful golden eyes shine up at him.

“Sorry I’m late,” Eddie sighs, knowing Fudge would look at him much the same if he’d been on time, because that’s just how cats are.

He pushes through the door to the Great Room, where the bulk of the Kaspbrak coven business is done. It’s a dome-like chamber with living walls, flowering here, and mossy there. Roots from the mountain’s many trees twine together into a ceiling, a staircase, and a mezzanine that circles the space from above and leads to other rooms. Two smaller circles are etched into the middle of the stone floor, one for summoning, and one for the summoner’s own protection. Deeply gouged runes line each and emanate soft green light. In the astral plane, they are like a beacon to the souls that wander an otherwise featureless scape.

As Eddie crosses the room, Sonia Kaspbrak appears from another door, looking surprised to see him, rather than irritated at his late arrival.

“Edward?”

“Good evening Mother!” He blinks his belongings up to his room to get his hands free then carefully shoos Fudge out of the summoner’s circle with the side of his foot. “Are we ready?” he asks, trying not to miss a beat.

“Are we?” Mother glides closer and then circles him with a bewildered look on her pale face. Her eyebrow arches. “Your aura is... bubbling.”

“Is it?”

While he takes his place, Eddie tries to quickly center his mind on something capable of smoothing it over, but it keeps echoing with Richie’s voice. A bell ringing at the top of his lonesome tower.

_There’s something different about you, Eddie..._

_Darlin’..._

_Do you believe in love?_

Rather than raise his hands to begin, Eddie folds his arms as Mother continues her examining orbit. Her skirts sound like dried leaves caught in a breeze, skating across the stone floor, though her footfall makes no sound. Something different about him, indeed! It’s a wonder Mother can’t smell it on his clothes, the way he was just held in Richie’s arms. She must notice this is the most flustered he gets outside out banishing poltergeist. She must suspect. Better to get it out of the way before they bring interloping spirits into the conversation.

“I think I met someone today,” Eddie says. “Someone... special.”

The rustling pauses. Caution. “Oh? All the way out here?”

“In town, yes.”

Mother stands still. She hardly breathes. “Did you make yourself known?”

“Well, no, but I didn’t lie.”

Deceit is hard on the integrity of one’s aura, much more so than fleeting nervous excitement.

“Did you speak your name?”

“Yes?” Eddie sees no danger in that. Perhaps he is a little unorthodox in his dealings with mortals, but plenty already have Kaspbrak on their books, or else they wouldn’t get grocery coupons in the mail. Eddie stiffens a little. “And his name is Richie Tozier,” he remarks defiantly.

“Tozier, Tozier...” Mother folds her hands together thoughtfully and starts pacing again. “Perhaps a relative of House T’zeer? Hmm, that must be it.”

Eddie’s brow furrows. “The pyromancers? What have they got to do with it? _Oh!”_ Suddenly it’s obvious, Mother has taken ‘special’ to mean something entirely else. “He’s not a witch, Mother.”

She sniffs. “Not much of one, if he didn’t recognize you.”

“Not at all,” Eddie laughs.

Mother turns on her heel to give him a scolding glare. He never takes things as gravely as she’d like. “Not another werewolf?”

“No! Not-“

“-or a warlock?”

Eddie sighs. “There aren’t any warlocks left, Mother. You know that.”

That doesn’t make her any less uneasy, considering they were tarred with the same brush as witches before their extinction. Mother keeps her distance as she formulates her next anxiety. “Edward, if a fae tricked you into giving your name-“

Eddie waves that off. “He’s just a mortal man, Mother. A man I... think I like.”

“Stars above!” Her eyes go wide. “For _what?_ You already have a pet cat!” 

Fudge perks up, as if at the threat of replacement. Eddie wishes she really did understand, he's sure she would take his side. She knows how empty his days are. She knows her tolerance for cuddling is no match for his desperate desire for connection.

“I like him for courtship,” Eddie explains. “Or- _dating,_ they call it now,” he adds with a sigh.

Not since Eddie announced he’d be taking the washing to a laundromat instead of the tub has Mother looked so blindsided. She clutches her shawl as if she needs to start her heart pumping again.

“They called it ‘coupling with the devil’ in my day, and they hung witches for it! Oh!” she laments. “My son, _seducing a mortal.”_

Her whirlwind of distress is such that Eddie can’t help but be sucked in. He steps out of the summoner's circle to console her, taking her cold hands into his.

“They don’t do that anymore,” he reassures her. “Not in ages. There are mortals dressing up in black and calling _themselves_ witches now, running book and candle shops! Like it’s a hobby.”

Mother doesn’t like that state of affairs much better. “Dullards and brutes,” she seethes. “All of them.”

“Not this one, Mother.” Eddie shakes his head with a smile. “He’s _wonderful._ ”

“Oh, my poor little moonbeam. Their foolishness is already catching.” The back of Mother’s hand pats his forehead, seeking a fever.

Eddie pushes it away. “I’m going to see him tomorrow night,” he informs her. “I think he’d even understand, if I told him-”

 _“No!”_ This time Mother points at him, boney finger swirling with intent. “To save thyself, you must not tell, I bind thy tongue, to keep you well!”

Eddie claps a hand over his mouth and scrambles back before she can cast, but it doesn’t matter. Fudge darts through his legs, hissing, and he trips trying not to step on her. His tailbone hits the cold stone floor, as jarring as the sudden turn.

“I can’t believe you’d _do_ this,” Eddie gasps through his fingers.

Never before has she worked her magic on him. Maybe when he was a little boy she might have kept him from running too close to an open cauldron, but those days were long past, and those spells were not lasting.

Mother stands over Eddie, lined in jealous green light. “I can’t let you kill yourself, Edward!”

“You made me the witch I am! Don’t you think I’m powerful enough to protect myself?”

"Oh, my boy." She covers her heart, affected but resolute. “Now I won’t have to worry about that. You can have your mortal, and he won’t be able to turn on you.”

Fudge recovers from the upset and comes over to Eddie to investigate his visit to the floor. He scoops her into one arm and pushes himself up with the other. _Fine._ Forget tonight’s summoning. If Mother is so eager to act unilaterally, she can deal with it herself.

Without another word, Eddie storms past her and through the chamber to the back hall. He squeezes Fudge tight to his shoulder, wiping a tear on her fur.

“Why don’t we take a night off, Fudge?”

She chirrups, growing impatient with being carried. Of course, she would have followed him regardless!

When they get to his room, Eddie sets the cat down on the bed, throws a blanket over his crystal ball, then slams the door shut. With both hands, he casts a ward.

“Mine magic is _mine right,_ and so I seal thee for the night,” Eddie grumbles.

For a long while he stares at the door, challenging his mother to come after him and try and break his magic. When his breathing finally slows from angry puffing to something reasonable, he stops. He sits on the bed and stares at his knees instead.

She’s wrong. He knows that. But she’s also a little right. A nice modern man like Richie wouldn’t burn him at the stake, but he would probably be alarmed if he knew what Eddie was. At the very least, he may feel that a witch is too much trouble to get involved with. Eddie does keep odd hours to talk to ghosts, and he’s impossible to reach by telephone. It would be difficult to coordinate dates, and then once they did, they could never come back here unless he was able to convince Richie that his mother was some sort of historical reenactor. Even if he could keep her out of the way, they're always leaving things floating around- Richie might come by for dinner and wind up concussed by an errant flower pot. Still, if they managed to get past all that, Richie might think Eddie’s magic is fascinating and beautiful, or at the very least useful. There’s only one way to find out his reaction, really, but Mother took that chance away from him. Now he’ll think Eddie is a pain in the neck for no good reason at all.

Well, Eddie’s determined to try and make the most of it. It would serve Mother right to see how charming and bright mortals can be!

He throws open the heavy wooden doors of his wardrobe and picks out several likely candidates for tomorrow night. Silk shirts, embroidered vests, ties, and pants specifically charmed never to crease at the knees swirl around the room. He digs out some of his favorite shoes and jewelry that go unappreciated around the house, but feel like too much for the supermarket. Maybe no tie, he thinks- Richie seems to air on the side of informality. Some discrete cufflinks would still be all right. He wants to be sparkling but understated. Impressive, but touchable. Eddie mixes and matches them all in midair, until he finds an outfit he thinks begs to be wined and dined until the wee hours, and perhaps even taken out dancing. He floats it down to the bed, folding as it lands in a fetching pile of black and red, and gives Fudge a warning look.

“Keep your hair to yourself, please.”

Eddie catches his favorite pin out of the air and lays it all away on his writing desk for now. Today’s jacket and mail are there waiting for him, along with the copy of Richie’s story. He pulls down the Yellow Pages from his personal library and brings the whole stack back over to the bed and sits next to Fudge, who has colonized the very center.

Saving the best for last, Eddie files through his pile piece by piece. There's a credit card offer that can go right into the fireplace. So can a pamphlet for a local politician seeking election, though Eddie notes that cracking down on witches is not listed among the promises for civic improvement, so _there, Mother._ He keeps a reminder from his dentist (like his glasses, there are some things science is just better at), a flyer for a nearby electronics store (because he lives in hope), and a Pennysaver.

“Oh goodie,” he tells Fudge. “Something to keep us busy.”

Eddie loves clipping coupons, whether or not he plans on using them. When Freese’s first expanded to a department store in the Twenties, he bought a pair of silver plated pinking shears that he absolutely adores and can never invent enough uses for. That’ll relax him so he can really enjoy his reading material. First he should decide about dinner, though.

Seeing as the Kaspbrak residence has only the most tenuous connections to the modern world, Eddie’s phonebook serves mostly as a decorative object. He cracks open the Yellow Pages and flips past a rainbow of flowers pressed within to find R for _Restaurants_. Blue dianthus, sea rose, bloodroot. Finally the listings for various health and skiing _Resorts_ give way to little illustrations of garnished poultry and sizzling steaks. How appropriate that there should be a spray of lilacs already pressed in these pages. First love, unfolding before him. Eddie carefully frees the petals and lays the dried flowers aside with the mail. He runs his finger down the purple stained pages in consideration. Which of these options would be the most romantic? With little first hand experience and no ability to call ahead, he’ll require some light divination to find the perfect place to invite Richie. Anything carry-out is no good, he knows that. Diners are out, too. One foreign cuisine is just as mysterious as another, so that doesn’t narrow it, at all. Something tells him he shouldn’t discount those businesses without a special advertisement, though, so he combs through the unadorned listings as well. With little else to do tonight, he spends a long time examining the numbers individually. He discards the inauspicious and the uninspiring, and finally settles on an establishment simply called The Parlor. He writes down the address and tucks it into his outfit for tomorrow.

After that, Eddie opens his diary to make his customary observations of the weather and the stars. Fudge helps him scrapbook the flowers in, too. Eddie flips through the Pennysaver, not with an eye for a bargain, but for an advertisement with a particularly pleasing combination of colors. He holds up two pages for her to see.

“Green or silver?” he asks, flipping back and forth. She blinks three times. “Both?”

Eddie tears out both pages and folds them together lengthwise. With his pinking shears, he cuts a concentric series of teardrop shapes, until he can go no smaller. He spreads out his diary before him and arranges the flowers with a few frilly edged hearts until he finds a design he likes, then sticks it all in place with a twitch of his nose.

Finally, he comes to the main attraction. Eddie changes and clears everything away and snuffs all but the closest lamp to tuck into bed with his reading. Fudge makes a nuisance of herself, fleeing the turned down covers and hopping onto his pillow just as he tries to lay his head.

“You have your own pillow,” Eddie points out, but she only blinks her golden eyes at him until he scoops her little body out of the way.

Fudge doesn’t find the story nearly as compelling as he does. She falls asleep just a few pages in, and doesn’t stir when he chuckles. The tale itself has its funny moments, but there are all these little doodles in the margins. Richie’s notes for reading out loud. He has the moments for pause marked with pencil slashes and certain words underlined, so that Eddie can very nearly hear the way he would tell it. Then, as each character appears, Richie has scratched out a cloud of words describing their voice, some from the text, some of his own choosing. The main character is _light lisp, questioning, curt, measured._ Richie has drawn his face with bagged eyes and a pinched brow. It reappears every few pages as the mood shifts, to cue Richie as tensions rise. He’s drawn the ghost, too. Its eyes are hollow, blackened scribbles, but its mouth is even more vast, hanging open and slack jawed. _Mouth breather, droning, disjointed._ Eddie doesn’t miss how the ghost slowly pulls itself together the more it talks to the hero, as it recovers from its otherworldly torments. When the doodles appear on the last page, when the two have come to an understanding, they aren’t so different at all. Eddie quite likes the last drawing of the ghost, kind eyes shadowed by a heavy brow. If he hadn’t promised to return this to Richie, he might have clipped it out to stick in his diary.

Eddie falls asleep still imagining Richie’s voice, so even though he had no intention of dreamwalking to him that night, he’s not surprised when he hears it again.

A spell, Eddie thinks at first, by the rhyme. Then he realizes Richie is singing to himself, Nothing Eddie recognizes, of course- his taste in music stalled out about a century ago- but something soulful and a little silly. Something _Richie._ A buzzing, fuzzy feeling wraps itself around Eddie’s heart. He follows the tune through the dark, down a truncated dream version of the road to downtown and finds himself in front of an unmarked door in a featureless wall.

It’s fairly bright inside, so Eddie’s eyes take a moment to adjust, but Richie’s voice is clearer now.

 _"If lugging you is strooong, I don’t wanna be-_ ugh c’mon!”

There’s a thud and a huff. Richie is down a long narrow hallway from Eddie, boxed in by a wayward armchair and a seemingly endless sea of blue floral wallpaper. 

“Hello!”

Richie looks up at Eddie over the wedged-in armchair. _“Ah!”_ He clutches his chest in shock and then sighs in relief. “Jeez Louise. Hiya spooky!” he waves.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Eddie apologizes.

Richie cocks his head. “Are you a ghost?”

Eddie shakes his head. Ghost can’t dreamwalk or else he’d be out of a job.

“Well boo on you! You just came through a wall!” Richie sticks his tongue out and then they both laugh, the surreality already forgotten. The space seems no longer or more kaleidoscopic than any other. Just another New England home with a shotgun hallway. “Could you give me a hand with this?” Richie asks.

“Of course!” Eddie hurries over to him. He grips into the velvety cushion of the chair and gives it a wiggle. “Where are we going? Your way or my way?”

But he can already feel Richie pulling. He’s felt Richie pulling him all along. He lifts his end easily and follows.

Richie looks back over his shoulder to check the way for only a moment before looking back to Eddie. “Gorgeous _and_ strong, huh?” His eyebrows bounce.

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” Eddie merely benefits from awareness that this is all a figment of Richie’s imagination. They could be hauling an anvil and he’d fare no worse. “I’m just glad to help.”

“If I get all these La-Z-Boys out, I can have my old room back,” Richie explains.

Ah, here they come to the point of the dream, if there can be such a thing.

“Did you live here?”

Eddie looks around and so does Richie. Pictures start to pop into existence along the walls. Black and white portraits of brides and grooms, babies, and families assembled on porches. There’s a painting of an autumn glade, and an antique mirror with a carved wooden frame. Doors begin to stretch up from the floor as the blueprint becomes stabilized by Eddie’s magic. They pass a dining room on one side, and an airy bedroom with a big quilted bed on the other.

“Before the mall,” Richie answers.

Yes, Richie had said something to that effect. In his dream approximation of things, a store full of lounge chairs must have taken over his former home.

Finally they come to the kitchen door and Richie takes a turn. The screen door to the back porch is open and waiting, and a number of already evacuated chairs are heaped in a tumble out on the lawn. They swing the weight of the chair between them, gaining height to throw it into the pile.

“Cinderella dressed in yella-“

Eddie squints at Richie. “What?”

Richie keeps reciting in a sort of unison with their motion. “Went downstairs to kiss her fella! By mistake, kissed a snake, how many doctors does it take?”

Maybe this dream isn’t as easy to reason out as Eddie first thought. “It would be just the one, I’d hope?”

They manage to toss the chair despite Eddie’s confusion. As soon as it’s out of his hands, Richie leans against the railing of the porch, giggling himself to the point of wheezing.

“The jump rope song!” he exclaims. “Like _Ice cream soda, lemonade punch! Tell me the name of my honeybunch!_ A, B, C, D...” He pauses and smirks at Eddie. “E?”

Eddie feels young and tender in a way he can't really recall being before. “Oh! I never had friends to jump rope with and teach me these things,” he admits.

“Now you do.” One of Richie’s hands slides along the porch railing to Eddie’s. He hooks their index fingers together and then swings their joined arms. “Just wait til you get a load of Miss Lucy and Mary Mack.”

“Friends of yours?”

Richie snickers and pulls him along, back into the house and down the hallway. They pull a big leathery chair out, then a two-seater, then one that trails an electrical cord along behind it. Sometimes Eddie goes backwards down the hall, sometimes Richie does, but _every_ time on their way back down they hold hands. It soon becomes obvious that no matter how many chairs they remove, the room never empties. Eddie soaks up as much of Richie and his dream routine as he can, knowing that if he tries to change its course, the whole thing is likely to break. He’d like to stop and stay awhile in Richie’s room, though. He’d like to see what’s on the walls and the shelves, and what charming jokes might accompany. Next time they return, Eddie doesn’t let go of Richie’s hand.

“Would you show me something?” he asks.

Richie grins at him and draws in closer. “What do you wanna see, darlin’?”

“Something you’re proud of?”

Possibly something he’s forgotten all about, tucked away where only dreams may roam.

It only takes Richie a moment to think of something. “Slurp!” he declares nonsensically. 

He tugs Eddie, diving between two couches leaned together in a sort of haphazard door. They wind their way into the thicket of chairs, much farther than a normal bedroom could possibly contain, until their surroundings thin. They cross onto a squashy rug and stand before a child sized bed made up in warm looking plaid. Next thing Eddie knows, Richie drops to the floor.

“Pop a squat,” he says, patting the spot beside him.

Eddie sits, folding his legs and wondering if maybe Slurp is a dog who likes to hide under the bed, like Fudge. He watches Richie reach beneath, as far as an adult man could possibly fit. He pulls back out dragging a beat up suitcase with him. It’s busted at the corners where the leather has cracked from age, and the zipper has become merely decorative. Richie unbuckles the weary strap that keeps it closed and throws it open on the floor between them. Within, there’s a rainbow of odds and ends. Broken telephone parts, rubber gloves, feathers, bottlecaps, mismatched Christmas decorations, scraps of fabric- any thing, in any color, any texture. It reminds Eddie of flipping through one of his diaries if the pages weren’t flat.

“Look at all this stuff,” he admires. “Are you a junk collector?”

Richie roots around in the contents looking for something. He locates a thin sheet of metal and rumbles it like thunder. Turning to Eddie, Richie contorts his face to plunge one eyebrow and jut out a monstrous underbite. “I’m a horrible, deranged graverobber!” he claims.

Eddie snickers. “Oh no!”

“And this! Is my _unholy labhoooratory_ where I make my mad creations!”

Richie’s hand suddenly emerges from the suitcase, covered in what must have once been the sleeve of a woman’s coat. The buttons from the wrist have been relocated to become the glittering, coal black eyes of a red dragon. What looks like two halves of a plastic bracelet poke up as horns, and an old oven mitt has been made into a mouth, with a lolling silk ribbon tongue.

“Slurp!” Eddie recognizes. “You made this?”

“Mostly! Ma helped me sew him,” Richie admits.

Slurp smacks his lips and yawns. “Sssew who?”

“You hatched, I mean,” Richie reassures the dragon. He winks at Eddie. “Good ol’ Slurp here was just a little egg in a nest on the snowcap of Kilimanjaro-”

“The mountain?” Eddie could take the dream there right now and dazzle Richie if he wanted, but he resists. Sharing in his unbridled sense of imagination is magical enough.

“Yeah!” Richie fusses with the yarn running down the puppets spine, making it stick up. “I had just seen it in some Tarzan show on TV. Kilimanjaro! The world’s highest free standing peak, a triple volcano, the _‘House of God’!”_ he booms. “I thought, you know, if dragons were real that’d absolutely be where they’d live. Nobody would bother them up there! Sure, it’d be hard to get a pizza delivered, but there's an all night buffalo buffet right there on the plain!”

Richie swoops Slurp over the suitcase to gobble up a furry pom-pom in illustration. His beaded teeth mash together in a frenzy and then he belches the pom-pom at Eddie. “Excoothsss me!” Slurp apologizes, rumplenosed and embarrassed. “Ithh been tho long thinth I’ve had a sssnack!”

“It was my bad manners, dropping in during your dinner,” Eddie chuckles. He offers the furry ball back to Slurp with a flat palm like he might feed a horse.

“Slurp’s egg rolled down into the glasslands and was raised by elephants,” Richie tells him. “Hence the accent. Dragons _usually_ have very sharp, biting voices, or they do when _I’m_ in charge. Otherwise what are all those teeth for, right?”

That sounds like fair logic to Eddie. “If I ever meet a dragon I’ll ask for you,” he promises.

“Other than me, of courthsss!” Slurp huffs.

“Oh!” Eddie grimaces. “Sorry.”

The arm bearing Slurp takes a flop into Richie’s lap. “Man, you must think I’m nuts,” he says, slumping. Richie’s expression squirms and their surroundings start to fade. “I know I come on strong. You can tell me to shut up! It’s okay- everyone does!”

Eddie’s heart breaks for him. “I can’t do that,” he tells Richie. “I wouldn’t want to. I think you’re fantastic- both of you.” Eddie reaches out to give Slurp’s nose a pat where it lays on his knee. “Thank you for introducing us. Slurp is adorable, and with you for a friend, he must be a very nice dragon.”

“That’s the only kind,” Richie says with a smirk. Slurp straightens up, looking vindicated. “It’s those pesky princesses you gotta watch out for.”

“Fairytales always get it backwards,” Eddie sighs. He wishes he could tell Richie the half of it, but tempting Mother’s curse might spoil the moment. The plaid bed has already disappeared, and so has the suitcase. The dream will dissolve any moment now.

“Theresss one thing fairytalthsss get right,” Slurp says, pointing his nose up at Eddie.

He grins, glancing back and forth between Richie and the puppet. “What’s that?”

There’s a flash of red ribbon as Slurp gives him a long- well- _slurping_ lick up the side of his face. “True lovesss kithsss!”

“Woah,” says Richie, holding his other hand up. “Play it cool, man!”

“Ssthorry!”

 _Don’t be._

Eddie wakes up in the dark. Oh, if only he’d made them stop moving chairs sooner. 

-


	3. Chapter 3

Even though Eddie planned his outfit ahead of time, he takes full advantage of his car’s independence on the drive. He flips the visor down and goes back and forth between a buttoned and unbuttoned collar in the mirror. Suddenly the sparkly pin at his throat feels like too much. Not that he thinks Richie wouldn’t like it- he’s a bit of a magpie isn’t he? But Eddie can feel it every time he gulps and he’s gulping a lot. He’s as nervous as any pimple faced first-time wooer. He keeps catching himself chewing his nails and tricking himself into thinking there’s an eyelash stuck somewhere on his face. His complexion is revealingly pink, and his hair chose today of all days to break away from its usual architecture and curl over his ears in eccentric wings. Hopefully Richie doesn’t take one look at him and think his eyes had really been playing a prank on him when they met.

When they pull into the driveway, his time is up. Eddie folds the visor away and lays his hands on the wheel for the first time all day.

“Now remember,” he says firmly, “You’re a white car with a blue interior.”

The engine shudders.

“-I don’t care how much it clashes. And be polite if he tries to adjust his seat or the window or volume or anything else. _Please."_

With that, Eddie slides out. He gives his hair one final tuck behind the ear and hurries up to the doorbell. Hopefully he’s not too early, but he just couldn’t wait any longer. After centuries of patiently proceeding from one day to the next, he’s found something that makes him eager for the future.

The door opens on an unexpectedly familiar face.

“Oh! Hello.” Eddie blinks, looking up at Richie’s Mike. He had said his friend was at the library yesterday, but Eddie didn’t realize that meant he was _the_ librarian- the one who had initiated Eddie into the world of technology. Perhaps they haven’t spoken much since he guided Eddie through the new computerized card catalogue a few years back, but he certainly made an impression on him!

“Hi!” Mike lets go of the door and glances over his shoulder. He turns back to Eddie with a clever look forming. “You must be here for Richie. I knew he was expecting someone but I didn’t realize it would be you.”

“Edward Kaspbrak,” Eddie offers. He shakes Mike’s hand. “I suppose-”

“I’ve seen you around, yeah. Mike Hanlon.” He smiles wide and then stands back in the door with his arms crossed, rather than invite him in immediately. This is clearly an interview with someone who feels protective of Richie. “You must be our age, did you go to Kenduskeag?”

Eddie tilts his head in the direction of the river, a little confused. _Of course,_ he’s been to the river- he’s lived in Derry longer than there’s been plumbing, but- “The high school, you mean?” Eddie clears his throat. “No, I was in a vocational... program.”

“Sure,” Mike says. “And now you’re a counselor?”

“Mhmm!”

Finally Richie appears behind Mike, coming through the sitting room. The moment Eddie gets a glimpse of his flashing smile, his breath catches.

“It’s funny, that’s just not what I would’ve guessed.”

“Hey fellas!” Richie pokes himself into the conversation. “Guessed what, Mikey?”

Mike backs up and lets Eddie into the house from the porch, eyeing him steadily. “Well, when you check out someone’s books you get a picture of who they are. A lot of current affairs, engineering and travelogue, you might imagine a guy’s some kind of Double Oh, especially if he’s a snappy dresser.”

Richie snorts. “What? You think he’s with the KGB and he just _forgot_ to change his name to something a little more apple pie?” Between them and the nearest couch, there’s a floor lamp that Richie suddenly grabs and points in Eddie’s direction. _“Are you now or have you ever been a member of the communist party?”_ he barks.

Not the witch hunt Eddie was expecting.

“I- I’ve actually never registered with a party,” he says honestly. From his long lived perspective, they shift much too frequently to nail down.

“There, you see?” Richie lets go of the lamp and it wobbles back into place. “No one could stand up to that line of questioning.”

Mike shakes his head with a laugh. “I don’t think you’re a spy, I just wonder what a cool guy like you sees in a bonehead like him.”

Eddie shoots an apologetic look at Richie. “An easy dupe?” 

“Yeah! He wants me for my bod not my brain.” Richie thumbs himself in the chest proudly. “If we happen to topple democracy in our spare time, what’s it to you?”

With the fondness of a very old friend, Mike sighs. “I have been meaning to learn a second language, I guess. Nice meeting you, Eddie. Richie, whatever you get up to, try not to implicate me.” With a bemused lift of his eyebrows, Mike excuses himself.

 _“Dasvidaniya!”_ Richie calls after him. “Would you believe this guy? He’s probably playing mind games to reel you in for himself,” he says, miming the crank of a fishing rod.

Eddie chuckles. “Did you two enjoy your morning?”

“No, but the fish did,” Richie zings back. “Zero casualties.” He plants his hands on his hips and looks Eddie up and down. “Talk about alluring. Hook, line, and sinker. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.”

Blood rushes to Eddie’s face. Well, he definitely doesn’t have to worry that Richie came to his senses overnight. That spark between them is still there. He can feel it like the static charge in that polyester sweater he accidentally bought, only this time he’s not going to try and bring it back to the store. He wants this no matter how fuzzy his hair gets.

“Come to dinner with me!” Eddie blurts out. “Sorry, I meant that as a question. Would you-”

“Yeah!”

“As a date?”

Richie pulls an eyebrow. “Unless you want to start a restaurant critics partnership.”

Eddie chuckles and looks up at him, mesmerized. No venture seems entirely out of the question, if he got to do it with Richie. “I don’t suppose you’re available right now?” he asks.

“You read my mind!” Richie says, immediately jumping to open the door. He herds Eddie through it with an arm around the back. “Hey, maybe you really are a sleeper agent!”

“Haha, uh-“ Eddie swallows a lump. “That must be it.”

Richie bounds down the porch stairs and then holds out a hand for Eddie to take as he alights. It gives him a sudden yearning for the days of horse drawn carriages. Whatever the mode of transportation, with his hand in Richie’s, he’s in no rush to separate. Eddie dithers at the bottom of the stairs with him, fixed in an enchanted moment.

“I was thinking we could go to The Parlor,” he tells Richie. “Do you know it?”

“Oh ho ho Eddie, you are _full_ of tricks, huh?” Richie gives his hand a squeeze before he lets go.

Unsure of just how to read that reaction, Eddie simply smiles and unlocks the (correctly colored) car.

In the confined space within, Richie manages to simmer down a bit. He twists in his seat to lounge against the window and watch Eddie pretend to drive. Maybe he notices Eddie over apply himself to the charade, or maybe he replays their conversation so far in his head- either way, he clears his throat and speaks more softly.

“Sorry if we made you nervous in there, Eddie,” he apologizes. “Really- as a former chapter secretary of the SDS, I’m not in the position to rag on the Eastern Bloc.”

“Oh! I really don’t mind,” Eddie says. “It’s been so long, I don’t really feel any which way about the ‘Old Country’, as they say.”

“Is your family from... uh?”

Eddie wracks his brain a moment. The Silesian valley from which the Kaspbraks hailed has changed hands more times than a good coin. “Poland,” his mouth supplies, before the pause can drag too long. “My parents came here during the war.”

Just not the one Richie is thinking of.

“You said you work with your mom, right?”

“I do,” Eddie confirms, though he hopes he won’t be required to sing her praises just now. He’s still upset with Mother after last night. “And my father was a doctor,” he tells Richie, to sidestep to a slightly more comfortable topic.

“Well, no kidding!” Richie laughs. “Couple’a _Doctor Juniors_ here- my dad’s a dentist!”

“Here in town?” 

“Well, not anymore,” says Richie. “My folks retired down to the Florida Keys.”

Eddie glances at Richie, who is quite a bit more sunkissed than the average Mainer. “They must be nice to visit,” he muses. “All the sunshine and tropical plants. Southern constellations. Big, puffy thunderhead clouds...”

“Don’t forget day drinking on the beach with Mom’s friends from the bridge club!” Richie tosses in.

“Goodness, I can’t imagine,” Eddie says. _“A mother with a social life.”_

He’s only just now embarking on one for himself!

Richie chuckles. “Let me paint you a picture,” he says. He cups his hands to make a whooshing wind noise then cackles a seagull’s distant call. He really is talented at sound effects. “Salt in your hair,” Richie breezes in a relaxing voice. “Sand in your loafers. A tan line in the shape of your wristwatch, and a sweating drink in your hand. Gin and tonic- bitter and bubbly. A pile of dentures drooling on the table...”

“Ugh!“ Eddie shudders. “You _almost_ had me.”

“But wait, there’s more!” Richie laughs. “The smell of prescription sunblock mixed with a gallon of perfume! A three hour discussion of ulcers, broken only by a gaggle of seventy year old women in straw hats so big they should have their own zip code, goin’ down the list of every unmarried relative of theirs within a decade of your age!”

“Oh dear,” Eddie sighs. “So much for paradise.”

“Eh, it’s coming from a good place,” Richie chuckles. “I haven’t stuck much to any one person, place or thing, all my life. Mom just wants me to have company when I retire. That’s not so bad.”

“That’s more than I can say for my mother.”

Richie folds his arms and sits back. “She doesn’t put the pressure on you? With _your_ looks? If you had my mom, she’d be demanding beautiful blond grandbabies, morning, noon, and night!”

“Well!” It’s a little different for Eddie. If he liked, he could hatch a new Kaspbrak out in the vegetable garden. No need to wait around for a friend of a friend’s similarly aged single relative, just a full moon! But Eddie clears his throat and shoves that aside. “I guess my mother doesn’t mind what I do in the future, so long as I have one,” he says. “My father... died suddenly when I was young, you see. She worries I’ll electrocute myself installing a new appliance, or get run over, or murdered, or-”

 _“Murdered!”_ Richie jolts in his seat. “Jesus, Mrs. K! Lighten up! They got CCTV everywhere.”

“I know!” Eddie exclaims. “There’s no explaining to her.”

“Well, you don’t have to worry about any trouble from me,” Richie promises. “The most fight I’ll put up is some thumb wrestling.”

A threat worth provoking, perhaps. Eddie grins. “My mother will be relieved to hear that.”

Someone honks then, a few cars away- someone trying to pull out into traffic. Eddie remembers he’s supposed to appear to be looking at the road, just in time to see the black and pink sign of The Parlor as it becomes visible up ahead. He’s delighted that the car found its way here just fine, but there’s another sort of hitch. The pink on the sign is a cartoon scoop of ice cream, and this was supposed to be a dinner invitation. Should be explain his mistake? Richie didn’t seem to mind. No! No, just lean into it, he decides. _Let it be fun._ That’s what he admires about Richie, after all.

“Here we are... I hope you don’t mind doing things out of order,” Eddie remarks as he changes lanes to turn into The Parlor’s little parking lot.

“I’m all for it!” Richie hooks his thumb under the seat belt strapped across his chest, at the ready to embark on their backwards date.  
  
  


-

  
  
After a final morsel swabbed in gravy, Richie crosses his utensils on his plate.

“Mmm! That’s the good thing about having a flight tomorrow,” he says, “I have an excuse to clean my plate. No sense in putting a doggy bag in the fridge if I’m leaving town for a week!”

“Oh, that’s right,” Eddie remembers, wilting a little.

They had their ice cream, a leisurely walk around Main Street, then dinner- and now things must draw to a close. Richie has a full day of travel ahead of him for his engagement in England. There’s not much certainty of how long he’ll be in Derry, after, or if he’ll return at all. If this little romance is in danger of an abrupt end, shouldn’t Eddie try and invite him back to the house? He could bewitch the place to be normal for an hour. They could spend a little more time together. Eddie could be just a little bit more memorable. Someone Richie would want to come back to. Maybe he could even introduce Richie to Mother, and she’d see that there’s nothing to fear.

Eddie folds his napkin into an accordion in his lap. He watches Richie stack and push his empty plates away so he can balance chin and elbow on the table and watch Eddie in return.

“Would it be crazy if-” Richie starts.

“Is there any chance-”

They both laugh, stepping on each other’s verbal toes, and Eddie sighs dreamily. They’re dancing around the same basic question aren’t they? How do they keep this going? Ordinarily if Eddie’s enjoyment is interrupted by an appointment, he can simply stop time for a while, but Richie would be sure to notice. He already noticed Eddie manipulating the jukebox at The Parlor, and was astonished by their ‘luck’ that Kenduskeag Park extended its hours past sundown so that they might have a stroll. Eddie half expected him to point out that the new lamposts that had sprouted in the garden were branded KASPBRAK ELECTRIC WORKS, or that out of season flowers bloomed when they kissed in the gazebo.

Rather than twirl his meddling fingers under the table, Eddie decides he should admit his motive instead. “I really don’t want tonight to end,” he tells Richie. 

“Alright, then we get appetizers,” he offers. “Then lunch, brunch and breakfast! That should take us at least to tomorrow.”

“I don’t know that I have room for all that,” Eddie laughs. “...But maybe tea?”

 _“Definitely_ tea,” Richie sparkles back at him, eyes crinkling with a grin.

A hopeful breath catches in Eddie’s throat. “You could come back with me, or- or if it’s too late, and you have your flight tomorrow-”

“-If we drag this date out long enough, we could get the real thing in _merry old England,_ ” Richie says, putting on an accent.

“What?”

“I mean it.” Richie sits up straight and determined. “What if you tagged along with me?”

“To- to England?”

Eddie was going to say they could order tea here at the restaurant if Richie wasn’t comfortable going home with him, he didn’t _dare_ imagine-

“I’ve got a double room in London, and Denbrough is putting me up in a cottage in the country, so it’d just be a matter of getting another plane ticket! I’d be happy to pay! Especially if you had to miss some work to come,” Richie reasons rapidly.

“It’s not really a question of money,” Eddie says. “And it’s not about missing work, it’s just-”

“You don’t have a passport?”

“No, I- no, it’s not that.” Eddie can magic that up, no sweat. “It’s just-”

Richie winces at him. “Is it too fast? I know we just met, and I’ll be working part of the time, but if I leave you behind I’m worried I’ll step off the plane, turn around, jump in the drink and try to swim my way back!”

Everything comes to halt. After hundreds of years of boredom and loneliness, a man Eddie’s utterly smitten with is offering to whisk him away from his sheltered little life here in Derry, away from Mother and her insistence she knows best, to someplace wonderful and _new._ Of course he wants to go, but Eddie’s internal sense of possibility needs a chance to catch up with him. How is it Richie is the one granting wishes?

Eddie beams at him, indecently eager. “I’ll come with you! I just have to put out extra food for my cat!”  
  
  


-

  
  
When Eddie gets home he blinks directly up to his room, half out of impatience, half so as not to disturb Mother in the Great Room. They’ve steered clear of each other since last night, anyway, and Eddie can’t allow her to place any more constraints on him. Not being able to tell Richie he’s a witch isn’t so bad compared to being cursed to turn him into a kangaroo the moment they lay eyes on each other. Who knows what Mother could be capable of? At the very least, she’ll try and convince him not to go, and his mind is made up. Some time apart might even be good for them.

Eddie certainly doesn’t need any distractions from packing. He has less than an hour before they meet again at Mike’s, and no clue what he’s doing. Richie said he can bring whatever he wants to occupy himself, because he already has ‘ _a few adapters’,_ whatever that means. Eddie does know he needs enough shirts to have something fresh every day, plus a few nice options for dinner. One dark colored jacket, one light, wouldn’t go amiss. Matching pants. Plenty of socks and accessories and all those little things. His diary and pinking shears. Eddie flings them all around room with frantic flicks of his hand and heaps them on the bed until they resemble a small mountain. But _what_ under the stars is he supposed to put this all in?

Eddie scratches his head and looks around at all his heavy wooden furniture, carved and uncarriable. He hasn’t owned luggage since, well, ever! The closest he has to moveable storage is a chest at the foot of his bed where he keeps linens. So, he throws that open and starts emptying its bulky contents onto the floor, and it’s then that Fudge tracks him down and makes her alarm known. She meows at the topographical disturbance to her little kingdom and jumps up onto the bed to determine how widespread the disorder is.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie tells her. “You’ll have your pillow back. You’ll have the whole bed all to yourself, for a while...”

Fudge sits by his pile of clothes and watches skeptically as he floats his spare blankets up to the top of the wardrobe for now. She’ll believe it when she sees it.

Eddie shapes his hands like he’s squeezing the air out of a balloon and stares at the empty chest. “What once was stuffed with pillow and quilt, I now need to be plastic built!”

With a pop, the old wooden thing shrinks and rounds at the corners, smaller and smoother until it’s a rolling suitcase like the sort Eddie has seen at the department store. Inside lays an over the shoulder bag. A bewildered moth flees the scene.

“Watch out for-!”

But Fudge pounces too quick. By the time her black streak lands on the carpeted floor, she’s already licking her chops. At least Eddie knows she’ll be able to fend for herself while he’s gone. 

He kneels and gives Fudge a scratch. “I’m going away for a few days. I’d take you with me, but I think Richie would notice. I’ll be with mortals the whole time and I’m already pushing it,” he tells her. He sighs as she nuzzles in blithely.

Maybe when he comes back, Richie will take them _both_ away. Maybe after this, they’ll change their whole lives. No more ghosts and gloom. They could pack up with the car and be wandering witches, tending to the living. Or Eddie could get a regular job. He’s not quite sure what he’s qualified for, but tonight anything seems possible. If he can run away with Richie for a week he can run away for good. Maybe even quit magic all together. He’ll already have to quit popping into the astral plane to keep a low profile in this coming week- he could treat it like a vacation. Yes! That’s perfect!

“No more magic until I get back,” Eddie swears to Fudge.

His cat takes it better than his car. Once he parks, Eddie has to rush Richie from the house to Mike’s car to keep him from catching wind of its jealous outburst. Thank goodness it’s dark.

The lights of Derry disappear behind them as they drive to the airport, which itself is already farther from home than he’s been in ages- and then the lights of all America fade to black, too. It’s like they’re nowhere. Eddie curls to Richie’s shoulder so he can see out the window, and clenches tight to his arm as they climb into the sky. They bump and shudder as they pierce the clouds and he doesn’t even realize he’s holding his breath when Richie gives him a squeeze back.

“You alright, buddy?”

Eddie takes a deep breath of him and feels safe enough to unlock his gritted teeth. “I’ve never been on a plane before,” he finally admits.

He thought he’d be able to play it cool since he’s old hat with flight as a witch, but he should know by now the way technology can trump the fantastical. It’s always a wonder the way the world races ahead, up, and around itself in a whirlwind. Really, he loves to have his breath stolen. 

Richie gasps. “Well why didn’t you say!? I wouldn’t have kept the window seat. Switch with me, so you can see!”

Above them, a red and yellow symbol glows, warning them to keep buckled. Eddie’s eyes dart to it, unsure. “Not yet.”

“Right, yeah!”

Eddie grips into Richie’s arm as they bounce through another rough patch of atmosphere. “Is it always like this?”

“Just while they’re getting to a cruising altitude, sweetheart. Trust me, you’ll get bored.”

Another jolt, inside Eddie’s own ribcage. “Not with you here, I think.”

“Ah, you’re getting inflight entertainment after all!” Richie says. “Usually they skip it on overnights.”

“Hmm?”

Richie points at a tiny television screen hanging over the aisle. It hadn’t really been noticeable amidst all the other fanfare when they first boarded. It’s gray now, so not much more interesting than the empty windows.

“Sometimes they play a movie on long flights like this,” Richie tells him. “It’s usually crap, but it beats pickin’ your nose!”

“Oh!”

“When they come around with refreshments, I’ll ask if they’re doing one.”

“Refreshments?” Eddie asks. There so much more ceremony to this than he anticipated. Ladies in matching uniforms waving their hands, chimes and symbols, special movie shows, and now this!

“Yeah, we’ll have to get champagne to celebrate your first time!”

“I suppose I could have a drink...” 

Richie grins. “That’s the spirit. Say, when’s the last time you took a vacation?”

Eddie grins back. “Nineteen fifty-seven.”

“Goll-y! You’re overdue. Have _two_ drinks!”

“I’m not driving,” Eddie shrugs.

They laugh and huddle together, and do trade places when they get the chance. While they wait for the flight attendant to come by their row, Richie pulls out all the complimentary things tucked into the pouch on the seat ahead of them and unfolds a little table. He fans through a travel magazine. “No gossip column,” he dismisses with a socialite’s sneer. Next he shakes out a little white paper bag. “In case of emergency!”

Eddie thinks of the unlikely water landing they were warned of earlier. “So we can take our uneaten food to a deserted island?”

Richie sticks out his tongue in disgust. “You might call it that, but then again, you’re a touch more _genteel_ than I.” He funnels the opening of the bag and blows a puff into it, making it bubble. “Look at that- doubles as a flotation device!”

“That’s a load off my mind!” Eddie picks up the last item aside from a safety brochure. A little, slightly curved cardboard envelope. EAR PLUGS, it says. “That’s handy...”

“Get your own,” Richie says, taking it back. He pops the container open and spills two foamy orange nubs into his hand. “Hey! Circus peanuts,” he says, and scoops them into his mouth.

“I think those are-”

“Kinda bland,” Richie chews. He gulps showily then tilts his head and pours the plugs from out of his ear.

“Oh, so you’re one of _those,”_ Eddie says, leaning in intently.

“A real live magician? Oh yeah! Didn’t I mention it?” Richie pats down his shirt front. “I thought I had a business card in here somewhere,” he says. “No wait!”

“Hey!” Eddie objects to the sudden prod at his armpit.

Richie pulls away with a shiny red and white playing card laying in his palm. “Aww, my mistake, wrong card.”

But Eddie’s not so sure about that. “Two of hearts,” he observes.

“Mmm, indeed,” Richie hums. He slips the card to Eddie and while leaning, kisses his cheek. “What else was I supposed to preset in my pocket tonight, knowing I’d be seeing you?”

After drinks service, they’re offered pillows and blankets and the lights go dim. Richie falls asleep quite easily since it’s past his regular bedtime, _and-_ Eddie hopes- because he's so comfortable leaned up against him. It’s supposed to be morning when they arrive. They’re racing to meet the sun. Eddie stares out into the dark beyond the window and wonders if the stars will be surprised to find him so far from where he belongs. He wonders if he’ll want to go back there at all. As he cozies next to Richie, their fingers intertwined, their heads sharing a pillow, it doesn’t seem like a certainty. He’s imagining more backwards dates, all over the world. More pranks and tricks, and jokes and kisses, too. His nose still sort of buzzes from laughing so hard at Richie’s toast.

_To oddballs, eyeballs, and optometry!_

“Ah- _achooo,”_ Eddie sneezes, as quietly as he can for the other passengers’ sake. “Excuse me,” he whispers, eyes clenched in a cringe.

When he opens again he sees a flash of bright hot pink in front of him.

“Oh my stars...”

The miniature champagne bottle they were served is still tucked into the mesh of the pouch in front of his seat, but it has since sprouted glittering butterfly wings. They struggle against the netting and make the bottle rattle against the hard plastic of the seat.

“Shh!” Eddie commands, in case it wakes Richie.

The bottle keeps twitching. Well, Fudge will never know if he broke his promise, just this once...

 _“Flying’s for the birds and bugs and things, you do not need a set of wings,”_ he hisses.

Still! If anything the bottle clatters louder. In fear it may break free and flutter all around the very enclosed space of the airplane, Eddie shucks his blanket and dives down beneath his seat to his stowed shoulder bag. The pocket on the side has a zipper!

“Sorry,” Eddie says, pinching the little thing by the neck. As quick as he can, he shoves it into his bag, and kicks it back under the seat. He arranges the blanket back over himself in time for Richie to sniff himself awake.

“You say something, Eddie?”

Eddie nestles back into the pillow and brushes Richie’s head with his lips. “Just a sneeze.”

“S’dry as martinis on planes,” Richie mutters sleepily. 

  
-


	4. Chapter 4

The excitement of arriving in London makes up for Eddie’s nervous night. They step out of Paddington Station onto the street and he forgets all about his lack of sleep, and the stowaway in his bag, and leaving home for the first time. This city he’s only seen in contained, flat pictures on pages and screens is real and alive! He’s here, walking around, and he can smell the famous fog and the meals cooking in nearby fry shops. When he looks up, there are buildings taller than he’s ever seen, and more abundant than he had imagined. To count them all, he’d need to take off into the sky again. Since Richie is too busy towing suitcases to hold hands, perhaps the only thing that keeps Eddie grounded is the long forgotten feel of cobblestones beneath his feet. He hasn’t tripped along streets like these in almost a century! And there’s something else that takes him back besides the age of the architecture, something that he can’t quite put his finger on.

“Hey!” Richie waves his hand around. “No powerlines, huh?”

That’s it! Eddie looks down the street, where the only thing hanging overhead are flags and hand painted signs for shops. “Isn’t it _wonderful?”_

“For making postcards of, maybe, but where’re all the pigeons supposed to park their keisters?”

Eddie spots a few birds making their perch on a monument. He turns to Richie with a childish smile. “Looks like they make do with statues. You’d better watch out you don’t stand still too long.”

Richie’s rolling suitcase scrapes to a stop and he crouches. “Not if I make sure you’re taller!”

With that, he lunges and catches Eddie around the middle, lifting him up off the ground. Unimpressed passersby part around them like a tide, also on their way to hail a cab- but how can they beat a giggling, incandescent Eddie for noticeability? He flails an arm out and as though he had summoned it with his powers, a black cab pulls over to the curb.

Their ride across the city proves to be Richie’s turn for transportational misgivings. As unused to planes as Eddie was, Richie is to driving on the left side of the road. He holds his breath as they turn past parks and palaces, only gasping out a laugh when Eddie starts purposely misidentifying them. _Isn’t that the Eiffel? This must be Yellowstone. I’ve always wanted to see the White House!_

The hotel won’t be able to check them in so early, but they’re able to stow their luggage at least, and find breakfast. They get a proper English tea, as promised, and muffins served with fresh butter _so_ delicious, Eddie vows to start making his own again. 

“With a big wooden churn?” Richie raises a supercilious eyebrow. “I guess that’s one way to get a work out. _Buttered Buns of Steel..._ Uhn uhn uhn,” he grunts as he athletically slathers another bite.

“No,” Eddie laughs. “Something a little more up to date. You’ll see, I’ll make you a whole spread. I’ll just have to get one of those electric kitchen mixers,” he says, twirling his finger in demonstration and contemplation.

 _Stop that,_ he has to remind himself.

“Well, you know how we can get a new mixer for free, right?”

Eddie considers Richie’s teasing expression. “Collecting supermarket stamps?” he guesses. They’re always trying to convince him to enter some sweepstakes or other at Hannaford.

“Eh, nevermind,” says Richie, muffling himself with a bite. “I’m already going off the deep end...”

“Aw, I wanna know.” Before Eddie can stop himself, he gets the musical sense of... church bells from Richie’s aura? “Oh!” He pulls back and buries his apologetic face in his napkin. No magic!

Richie crunches on, already distracted by the next thing. “Did you get a load of this bacon, yet? So thick, you’d better learn how to give a horse the Heimlich!”

But Eddie feels a bit choked up himself. He stands up suddenly, still clutching his napkin. “Excuse me a minute.”

He dashes out of the tea room where they’ve been having their breakfast and down a narrow hall. As soon as the door to the bathroom creaks shut behind him, he sneezes and feels instantly relieved. That is, until he sees that his napkin has sprouted those same pink wings as the bottle stashed in his luggage.

“Oh no.”

The cloth wafts up and out of his hands, propelled by the flapping, like a very small cartoon ghost. It flutters around in the air, impossible to miss in this tiny room. That won’t do. Eddie looks around, trying to think as quickly as he had on the plane. He wasn’t able to reverse whatever had happened then, probably _because_ he didn’t know what it was. Until he can figure that out, the best thing he can do is get it out of here. Eddie spins on his heel, taking stock of the tiny sink and the cupboard beneath, the window, and the toilet- no he can’t flush it, that’s cruel! Freeing it in the city seems wrong, too. Maybe if he can sort of fold it in on itself, it won’t be any trouble? He can stuff it in his pants pocket for now, and it can go make friends with the bottle bug. Then once they’re out in the countryside tomorrow, maybe it will be safe to set loose.

Eddie sits back down to tea, determined to act like there’s not a magic creature infestation happening. Luckily, it’s impossible to spare a thought for things that aren’t his delicious breakfast and charming companion.

He all but forgets about the incident until they finally get into their hotel room so they can change clothes. Just as soon as he crams the one bug in with the other, it’s out of mind again. He becomes completely consumed with the fact that Richie has come out from a shower in shorts and a tee shirt, scrubbed clean and stretching so that Eddie can see a peek of his belly. He can’t think about anything but how Richie invites him into his arms and fires up the hairdryer, so they can get a two-for-one dry off. They tangle up close together in the cord, and Richie blasts them both from above, combing Eddie’s hair with his fingers. He could melt, even without the electric heat.

“All this gold, I hope you’re insured!” Richie laughs. “We could always keep your hair in the safe when we go out, just in case. Ya know, I’d hate to have a pickpocket run off with it!”

“Sounds like you’re softening me up to make off with it yourself,” Eddie says, scrunching his face.

“Now there’s an idea.” Richie fluffs the top of Eddie’s head and pretends to plop his hair on his own. “How do I look as a blond?” He unwinds them from the cord of the hairdryer and shoots it up the hem of his shirt, making the white fabric billow. _“I wanna be loved by you,”_ he sings in a breathy, girly voice. _“Boop boop be doop!”_

He makes Eddie’s insides swoops all around, this tornado of a man.

“No blond. I like you exactly the way you are,” he tells Richie.  
  


-  
  


The two determine themselves to stay out as late as they can stand on their day in the city. They’ll have better luck adjusting to the local time, and soak up as many sights as they can see. They plan a walkable route on their map and set off arm in arm, in a team effort to observe the opposite travel of traffic. They wind their way through the markets and historic columns of the West End in search of half price tickets for a show tonight, then carry on, through to Trafalgar and it’s fountains. They agree it’s cheating to show off so many Italians in the so-called National Gallery, but admire the showmanship. They tag on to tours, climb hundreds of stairs, test shady park benches, heckle some ducks, and see more public gardens than Eddie could ever have guessed existed in one city. When Richie’s not looking, he snaps a sprig of lavender to put under their pillows. That’s not _really_ magic, he reasons. That’s just flower picking! Anyone can do that. Not everyone gets to do it while falling in love, though. The whole day is so full of marvels, such a waking dream- ultimately, the lavender ends up falling out of his billfold before he can get it back to their hotel room, but Eddie doubts they’ll require its help to sleep well.  
  


While Richie takes out his contacts and gets ready for bed, Eddie opens up the windows in their hotel room and tidies up in an attempt not to seem overly fascinated by the television. He’s never had private use of one before. Sure, he’s fiddled around with shelf models at the store, but there was only so much freedom there, and no chance to sit and absorb it. The static glow, the unknowable buttons, and the sense of command from all the way across the room! It’s as binding as any spell.

When he’s out of things to straighten out, Eddie sits on the foot of one of the beds with the remote in his hand, flitting from one channel to the next on the lowest possible volume while still having _some_ sound. He doesn’t want to miss out on Richie joking from the bathroom.

“You’re not gonna believe this, Eddie,” he calls, “-but I checked my watch, saw it was still eleven for the fifth hour in a row, and shriveled up and turned to dust!”

“Oh, I believe it.” Eddie flops backward with an exhausted groan. “I feel about six thousand years old.”

“Aww, you don’t look a day over three hundred, m’dear! Still as lovely as the day I met you. I remember it like it was Tuesday... I said to myself, _Hoss, yer gonna run away to a foreign country wit that thar beauty! Stack ‘im up against them crown jewels and see how he classes up the joint! Oughta throw all those darned rocks out, he’s the purdiest thang ya ever did see!”_

After such a long day, Eddie's already low threshold for romantic resistance is nonexistent. He giggles and his heart beats wildly, like it’s outside of his chest, like _wings-_

Wings!

The remote control slips free from under his tired hand and flaps right in front of his face in a pink blur.

“This is getting ridiculous,” Eddie huffs to himself, struggling to sit up.

The tap turns off in the bathroom. “Well, it ain’t cute, but I guess it’s nice of my eyebags to double so I have room for souvenirs,” Richie says. There’s a slap of palms to cheeks. “All right baby, brace yourself for ogling one last antique!”

 _Oh no!_ Eddie doesn’t have time to catch the remote, so in a panic he shoos it out the open window instead and pulls the curtains. He whirls back around as Richie strolls in from the bathroom and tries to behave as though he’s not hiding anything.

“There’s nothing worth watching,” he nods at the television. He goes to turn it off while Richie clambers onto the nearest bed and drops himself in the middle, on top of the covers.

“Speak for yourself,” he grins at Eddie, still in front of the screen. Richie holds him in his steady gaze like he would do so for hours, if not for his sleepy blinks.

Eddie would settle for being held in his arms. He shifts uncertainly, toward the other bed, then not. They haven’t really discussed the sleeping arrangement. Originally Richie was planning to travel with his agent, but that fell through and the second bed was made available- but did that make it necessary? The way Richie looks at him, Eddie doesn’t think so. But Richie doesn’t budge to make room for him either. Is that an invitation or not?

You know, it sort of reminds Eddie of something.

“Oh Fudge,” he sighs.

Richie frowns. “Whatsamatta?”

“No, that’s my cat's name. Fudge.” Eddie wanders into the space between the two beds. “She’s so dark brown, she’s almost black, and she loves to run underfoot in the shadows and nearly break my neck, so-”

“Oh! _Fudge!”_ Richie snickers.

Eddie smirks and tugs at the corner of the blanket stuck under Richie. “She always sits in the middle of whatever I’m trying to do. Won’t let me pull down the covers and get into bed.”

“You can get in,” Richie says softly.

“But you wouldn’t mind getting a little attention first, right?”

Richie looks away innocently, and that settles the matter for Eddie. He kneels onto the bed and Richie still doesn’t move away from the middle. Instead he wraps Eddie into his arms as he blankets his body against him. They both sag and sigh, exhausted, but content.

“I know this has all been a rush, but I can be a gentleman,” Richie promises.

Eddie draws back just enough to look at him, nose to nose. “Hm! You could be the queen of England, for all I know,” he chuckles. _“I’ll_ be asleep in three minutes.”

Richie licks his lip in anticipation. “Should I even bother putting on airs, then?” 

Eddie shakes his head and kisses him.  
  


-  
  


On the train out to the countryside, Eddie unfurls their map once more and follows along as they stop in each town. He likes the little pictograms for the nearby points of interest- the post and lintel of Stonehenge, the pony of New Forest, the beach umbrella of Bournemouth, and all the little castles dotted along the way. He enjoys imagining who named all the tiny villages in between, especially Farleigh Wallop, Middle Wallop, and Over Wallop. He has terrific fun rating Richie’s impressions of other passengers’ accents. A few times, he takes phonetic notes on a voice and tries matching it to one of Denbrough’s characters. He reads part of a story out loud to Eddie, switching back and forth between the lady who came by to offer tea and the man who was nervous he was going to miss the bus in Brockenhurst.

“Most of his books are novels,” Richie explains. “Tons of characters, long, lore heavy, kinda funky shaped stories that don’t break up into acts very well- but _The Well House,_ that one’s a short story anthology.”

Eddie nods. “Right, like the one I read.”

“Yeah! Just two or three characters in most of those, atmospheric but not a ton of prose. Kinda contained...” Richie rubs his mustache and narrows his eyes like he’s got a secret. “I’ve been thinking maybe they shouldn’t be books on tape.”

“No?”

There wasn’t anything objectionable Eddie had noticed it that one story, though admittedly his taste is a bit out of date.

“Mmmno,” Richie hums. He swaps around his stack full of paper and puts on top a packet made up of alternating white and yellow lined pages. When he hands them across to Eddie he sees that half are printed and half are hand written. “I was thinking they’d be better as a TV show,” he says.

“Oh!” Eddie looks through, and indeed, all the dialogue has been highlighted in the pages that are copies of the book, and after each is a handwritten, more script-like digestion. “That’s an interesting idea.”

“It’s a _crazy_ idea, apparently,” Richie says. “That’s why my agent bailed on me.”

Eddie blinks uncomprehendingly. “Why’s it so crazy?”  
  
Richie throws his arms wide. “The money it’d cost, my inexperience, the fact that horror always tanks so Denbrough has never sold his rights- take your pick! I’m punching above my weight. My agent didn’t wanna fly all the way here to get laughed out of the room.”

Well, Eddie doesn’t know anything about agents and television shows, but he knows something about Richie. When he thinks something is special, he puts a spotlight on it. He pours every ounce of effort into making it shine. He gives it unexpected possibilities.

“I don’t see what it could hurt to tell the author your idea,” Eddie tells Richie. “You’re so creative- you make everything entertaining. I think he’ll see that you gave his story a new life beyond what he imagined, whether or not you know exactly what you’re doing, because- because you _love_ it. That’s flattering!”

Richie’s eyebrows do an eloquent dance of appreciation. “You think so? Remember, you’re gonna meet this guy, so if I make an ass of myself because I don’t know how to adapt a TV show, you’re in the splash zone!”

Eddie shrugs. “I’m sure Mike can find a book to teach you that. You can learn a lot of things, but you can’t learn passion.”

For a moment, Richie looks like he might cry. “You really believe in me, huh?”

“I really do.”

Richie smiles, timid at first, then full on _starlight_. “And you’re attracted to me, wow!” he adds. “Jackpot!”

Eddie snorts. For all his swagger, it’s plain to see that Richie is often plagued by self doubt. Hopefully having someone at his side who sees the best in him will make up for some of that. Richie deserves to feel as extraordinary as he makes Eddie feel. He should get some of that starlight reflected back. 

For the rest of the trip, Eddie switches seats so he can read over Richie’s shoulder. He may be ignorant of the industry people and terms he mentions or what the significance of a commercial break is, but he’s crystal clear on Richie’s joy.

They’re the only people to disembark at their station, allowing Eddie a sense of the pioneer as he stands at the edge of the platform. No matter how old these lands may be, they’re a new world to him. He’s happy to see the return of blue sky, distinct from clouds. With the overnight flight and the fog, he hasn’t had much by way of aerial observation to report to his diary the past two nights. Now, a cloud shaped like a whale welcomes him to the countryside, tail held high. He’d agreed to accompany Richie so quickly, it didn’t really occur to him until now how enjoyable being on his own here will be, too. There will be all new signs of nature to observe, new flowers and leaves to press, new sands to sift. It’s just the break from the chains of routine that he’s needed. As their train pulls away, its rumble is replaced by the song of life renewed. 

“Thank you,” he tells Richie, as they help each other get their things down the stairs to the sidewalk. Then again once they’ve settled at the bottom, this time with a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you for bringing me here.” 

The look he gets in return is smug. “Eh, don’t thank me, I should be thanking you,” says Richie.

“For what?”

“Actually, I was thinking less about the what and more about the how.”

In that case, Eddie bites his lip to hold back a smile until it’s fully earned. “All right. _How_ will you thank me?” he asks.

The bag on Richie’s shoulder swings contemplatively. “Well, I didn’t bring any stationery besides my legal pad, so I’m gonna have to get creative...”

“I expect nothing less.”

“That is my best foot forward!” Richie declares.

With that, he shrugs off his bag and skips over to Eddie. He hooks an arm around him and twirls him into a dance, one foot following the other. Eddie never had the opportunity to learn to dance, but somehow his feet seem to be made to match Richie’s step, the same way his laugh goes so perfectly with Richie’s jokes.

 _"_ _A foggy day in London town, ain’t as gray, when you’re around! I don’t mind cramped trains, or boney knees. Your face goes sunset pink when we squeeze!”_

They’ve seen the West End with a new best friend, strolled the park and felt a spark, and never sipped a beer with one so dear! Eddie giggles dizzily, no doubt getting pinker and fonder until Richie runs out of impromptu rhymes and sidewalk. Arm in arm, they come to a stop where the pavement crumbles away into pasture, and the train tracks begin to disappear into the hills. The row of hedges penning in the parking lot drops off, revealing the building across the street.

Richie checks back in the direction of their suitcases still waiting on the lonely curb, then points ahead. “Wouldja look at that!” he says, pulling Eddie along with him. They scurry across the parking lot and stand staring at a small ruined church with a crenellated tower. The mossy tops of medieval gravestones poke through an overgrowth of weeds. “Just like a Lego set,” Richie admires. “Ages eight to eighty, assembly required!”

It does look like if they used the stones here on the ground, they could complete the missing sections of wall. The roof is long gone, though, and what were once windows are now empty arches with blue sky showing through.

“You don’t get building skeletons like these in Derry,” Eddie observes. There are few structures that can claim to be centuries old in all of Maine, and none made of stone besides his own home. If ever a building like this one burned or collapsed, it was pulled down and replaced. Here, the historic presence has been allowed to continue on, undisturbed in its decay. It sort of fascinates Eddie, even though he’s not much for churches.

Richie looks up and down the empty country road with a shrug. “Denbrough’s not here to pick us up yet, we could check it out.”

“Sure!” Eddie agrees. At the very least, it would be interesting to try and make out the dates.

“Maybe we’ll catch another ghost for him to write about, get me a bonus!”

Eddie follows along, though he’s a little unsure about that. “Would that get you more work?” he asks.

Richie laughs. “Maybe not with Denbrough, but Buena Vista Television might make an offer.”

As they wade into the tangled grounds, Eddie contemplates telling Richie that really, graveyards are lousy places to go ghost hunting. Most ghosts stick around on this side because they’re too nosy to miss out on what the living are doing (and they do very little in graveyards). Eddie should know! He’s made a career of appealing to this sense of curiosity when persuading ghosts to cross over. It sounds like Richie is joking, though, and Eddie suspects it’s for the best that he keeps privileged knowledge to himself. Getting too close to magic while he’s with Richie might be causing his recent hiccups.

“Eddie come look!” Richie waves from a few graves away. “There’s an Edwamossblob over here, right next to somebody R-crack-something. Or maybe it’s a B. Or a P? Maybe you can tell.”

“I have a piece of chalk, if you have some paper in your pocket,” Eddie calls back. “We could do a rubbing.”

Richie chuckles. “Well, if you _insist.”_

In his haste, Eddie mistakes the edge of a low, tabletop style stone and loses his balance. He wrenches to avoid falling on a neighboring headstone and just barely keeps himself upright. While his head was saved a bump, his ankle was not so lucky. Pain twangs through his foot as he stumbles to safety. Richie must hear him hiss, because he whips around in a flash and weaves between the stones to get to him.

“Hey, hey take it easy,” he says, throwing a supportive arm around Eddie before he winds up on the ground. “I did say let’s catch a ghost, not make one, right?”

“I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“Nah, I’ll bet it was a ghost that pushed ya,” Richie grins. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes. They dart all around, checking Eddie over. “Let’s head back to the station, huh? Need a lift?”

No way is Eddie letting himself cause a scene for a sprain he could usually magic away in a moment. He walks back gingerly and assures Richie that once he gets a chance to rest it, it’ll be good as new.

Fortunately, that chance comes soon enough. By the time they get back to their luggage, they hear a car approaching on the other side of the hedge wall. It pulls around and stops in front of them, pops its trunk, and then a perfectly friendly looking man steps out. Perhaps the cowboy boots are a tip off, but Eddie isn’t surprised at all when he speaks with an American accent.

“Hi there! You must be w-waiting for me!”

“William Denbrough!”

“Bill is fine,” he assures them with an easier smile than Eddie would expect from someone who writes about hauntings for a living.

Richie leaps forward and the two introduce each other, then turn to Eddie.

“Is this your agent?” Bill asks, holding out a hand.

“Even better,” says Richie. “This is my Eddie.” 

His heart could burst.

“Eddie Kaspbrak. Thank you for having us. I’ll keep out of your way,” Eddie promises. “I’m just here to support Richie,” he says.

Bill crosses his arms and watches as Richie counterpoints this claim by hefting Eddie's bags into the trunk. “Oh, don't worry," he chuckles. "We could use some fresh b-blood up at the house!”


	5. Chapter 5

The Denbrough residence is a sprawling old manor house set on a hilltop. To the north, east, and west below it there are farmlands, delineated by the color of their crop and bushy outskirts and dotted with sheep. To the south lies the town of Blithelysea, nestled on the coast. The manor watches over its surroundings with its perfectly symmetrical face, eyed by a pair of windows set over a frowning pediment. This state of perpetual scorn might just be a trick of the midday shadows, or perhaps it's due to the state of the stone fence that once circled the property, now either fallen away or scavenged by neighbors. It hasn’t scared off the old gatehouse, though. It stands guard at the side of the road leading up to the manor, with its pleasant little thatched roof and daub and wattle walls.

Bill unlocks the door for them and walks them through its ground floor. There’s a sitting room crowded with overstuffed chairs and a small dine-in kitchen, stocked with the essentials.

“No TV- sorry- but there’s a radio in the k-kitchen,” says Bill. “If you go down to town, they’ll probably have a game on at the pub.”

“Plenty of books!” Richie points out. For every stretch of wall that’s not windowed there’s a shelf full. “Just in case we run out of wood for that fireplace, eh?”

Bill laughs and nods a little sheepishly. “I read a lot. I have to put the books I love to reread down here or I n-never get anything done.”

“Nice of you to exile us all in style,” Richie grins.

“Thank you,” Eddie agrees. “It all looks so comfortable, and the area really is beautiful.”

This assurance visibly relieves Bill, giving Eddie the impression he doesn’t often play host. He looks around, searching for any last bits of knowledge he ought to impart. “Well, we just changed all the linens but there’s m-more in the wardrobe upstairs,” Bill says. “If you need anything else, there’s a shop in town, b-but you can always ask at the house. Why don’t we head up for the grand tour?”

“Go ahead, Richie,” Eddie urges. “I think I’ll rest here.” He glances out the window at the hilltop, feeling a little uneasy. Maybe it’s a bit of travel sickness, or maybe it’s just his imagination, but he’s glad to have his ankle as an excuse to regroup. If he's bound for another buggy outburst, he’d better do it alone.

“Aww.” Richie gives his back a consoling rub. “Yeah. Why don’t you put your feet up so we can get you back in tip top shape _tout suite,_ toots.”

“You can always t-take a look later.”

Bill gives way to Richie’s show of gallantry, as he insists on bringing up Eddie’s luggage himself before they go. He huffs and puffs up the stairs theatrically and then herds Eddie to the bed before he can attempt to unpack, rewarding him with a kiss.

“I’ll get you set up, you sit tight,” he says, untying Eddie’s shoes for him. “You wanna soak that ankle? I’ll run a cold bath.”

“All right, Doc.” Eddie’s made up his mind not to heal himself, so he sits back against the headboard and watches Richie construct his various mortal remedies with scholarly interest. Spare pillows from the second bedroom to elevate his foot, some red and white pills, and a doubled up pair of athletic socks- the next best thing to a bandage, apparently. “Remember Bill’s waiting,” he reminds Richie as he brings him a glass of water.

“I know,” Richie says, giving his cheek a pat before he finally departs. “But he’s not nearly as cute!” With that he clomps back down the stairs.

“Oh dear,” Eddie worries as the glass in his hands sprouts wings. “That’s the second one today!” He gulps his water down before it can get too buggy and spill.

Really, he has got to get a handle on this little problem of his. Even if he can continue to hide it from Richie, he’ll be costing Bill in housewares! Hopefully some more permanent solution will occur to him in his free time while Richie works. Meanwhile, Eddie packs the glass into the now bulging pocket of his bag and ventures into the bathroom.

Like the rest of the rooms on the second floor, it’s ceiling slopes and features dormer windows full of potted plants. A clawfoot tub squats between several more on the floor as though it were in nature. It gives Eddie the funny idea that maybe, like his suitcase, the tub has been transformed. Judging by the size and color and the viciousness of the paws, it would have to be a polar bear. Eddie positions a stool at its side, and then before dipping in, goes back for his diary so he can mark this all down while he soaks and thinks.

His bear lopes across the vine covered page, leaving watery footprints on its way to catch a train. As Eddie’s pen fills in the vines with leaves, their shapes begin to cluster, sprouting in pairs and becoming more and more winglike. Then there’s no avoiding it. He starts diagramming the confounding bugs to scale, meditating on them as he hatches in their velvety texture. This affliction _must_ be connected to Mother, and if it’s not- she is far more experienced a witch. She may have some idea. If only telling her wouldn’t confirm her fears of a mortal romance’s hazards- those _additional_ to her son running off without a word, of course.

How long did it take her to notice? Considering her constant anxiety for his safety, it is odd she hasn’t contacted him yet. Eddie would have expected her to come crying to him in a dream by now- but maybe the time difference across the ocean has misaligned the opportunity? Could be. Eddie’s never dreamwalked so far before, he doesn’t know. Possibly the timing doesn’t matter at all, and Mother’s so disgusted, she doesn’t even _want_ to talk to him. She may be angry with him. She may be angry with herself. Could shame for how they left things be holding her back? _He_ certainly feels guilty, not even leaving a note. 

Well, that settles it. It’s no good for a witch to steep themselves in lies or negativity, that’s how you get mean swamp hags that pick off children like gumdrops. That’s plain old bad publicity. When Eddie gets out of this bath, he should air out this squabble with Mother. He should go to sleep and see if they can find each other in a dream and sort this all out.  
  


-  
  


Despite his failure, Eddie wakes up with a smile. Someone is humming downstairs. Step by step it creaks closer, climbing to him, until Richie appears in the dim light of the room. 

“Oh, you’re napping!” he realizes. Richie hops right into one of the character voices he must have been discussing with Bill, crisp and mannered. “A thousand pardons, your grace.” He folds in a groveling bow and starts backing out of the room again.

“No need!” Eddie insists. He can play along. He shuts his eyes fast, clasps his hands over his breast, and aims for as serene an expression as he can muster despite giggling. “I’ve been laying in wait for my knight in shining sweatervest...”

“Laying in... Good God! You’ve been ensorcelled!”

“Won’t you come wake me?”

Richie hurries across the room. “Tis my sworn quest!” he declares. The springs of the bed give way as he bends to Eddie with a kiss. Richie grins down at him as his eyes open on cue. “Sorry if I’m a little chapped from reading all day. It’s just lucky I didn’t have to square off with a fire breathing dragon to get up here,” he says, licking his lips.

“Well, it’s Slurp’s day off,” Eddie says, faster than he can think not to.

Richie’s brow plunges. “Huh?”

But Eddie reaches for his face. On contact, Richie’s struck expression relaxes. Whenever they touch, they’re on a tea break, a park bench, a longed for vacation. Richie kisses Eddie’s thumb as it sweeps over his admittedly dry lip.

“I don’t mind at all,” Eddie says.

“Scorched _or_ slimey, eh?”

He nods and Richie climbs into bed with him. “Kiss me again,” he asks, and Richie does, over and over.

They slot together naturally, bodies entwining, hands seeking to uncover skin, and Eddie feels even better than just well rested. This is _sublime._ Last night they’d been content to curl up together and sleep in each others arms, but now Eddie is wide awake and whimpering for more.

“Was that your ankle? Are you okay?”

“No! Yes,” Eddie says, doing something halfway between a head shake and nod as his mouth chases Richie’s for another deep kiss.

“Mmm! Is this okay?” Richie checks.

His hands have found Eddie’s bare waist and have him pinned down like a planchette. His weight is the only thing stopping him from scattering in every direction at once as they press together eagerly. Richie could move him anywhere he likes, do anything with him that he pleases. He could use his body to divine the future, write the name of witches past, or dip into the mystic. It’s exhilarating and terrifying to realize there’s no knowing what magic he could summon from Eddie. Even if he wasn’t currently in the middle of a mystery outbreak, he’s never done this before.

“I feel like, _oh,”_ Eddie huffs. “This is amazing. Oh my stars. I feel like-“

“-Tell me, baby,” Richie mutters at his neck.

Eddie’s not sure if the resulting sparks that shoot out of his toes are imaginary or not. Wonderful as their embrace is, panting, squeezing, rippling, he forces himself to go still. “Like maybe- maybe we should slow down a little,” he tells Richie. He pets at his nape apologetically. “I’m sorry-“

“No, no, that’s okay,” Richie says, coming to a breathless halt. “Whatever you want.” His hands retreat from under Eddie’s shirt, but he kisses his cheek to show there’s no hurt feelings. 

Eddie’s brow knits a whole afghan as he tries to make himself clear. “I really want to do more! You make me feel so-! So wonderful! It’s just- I haven’t done this before, and suddenly... Not that I mind being swept up by you! I want to- to do everything you want to do, but-” Eddie gulps. On top of his inexperience, there are a handful of loose odds and ends around the room, too. If he could get a chance to square everything away, he’d be less concerned about a flying alarm clock, or a dancing stack of books, or glowing flower pot interrupting them. “... Later?” he suggests.

Richie looks down at him, smiling eyes as indulgent as ever. “Anytime! It’s up to you.”

“Maybe in a day or two?” 

“A day or two?!”

“I hope that’s not too long,” Eddie frowns. The movies these days make it seem like most mortals are ready to take one another to bed instantaneously, and Eddie’s already stalled three nights in a row.

“You make it sound like centuries!” Richie laughs. He scoops Eddie into his arms and rolls them onto their sides where they can still tangle, but a little less urgently. “Sweetheart,” he says, taking Eddie’s hand. “We’re talkin’ about your first time, here! Now I’m part tornado on my mother’s side, but believe me, I know- some things just take as long as they take.”

Eddie lets out a breath of relief. He should’ve known Richie would be understanding. He cozies up and kisses him again, leisurely this time. Being close enough for that is thrill enough for now. He hasn’t had a chance to ask about Richie’s first day of work, anyway.

“So how was it? Did you get to tell Bill your idea?”

Richie props his head up on one elbow. “Aw, not yet. That place is huge! We barely had a chance to get to the books. Bill showed me all around, showed me a bunch of art he was looking at while he was writing, all the creepiest rooms of the house, and the dungeon...”

Eddie’s eyes go wide. “Dungeon!?”

“Oh fine, _the basement,”_ Richie drones in a grudging monotone. “You know- with a wine cellar and a buncha busted old furniture. I think he flew me out here just so he could get my help bringing this one cabinet up the stairs!”

“Ah! Writing all those books was just a ruse to get help around the house,” Eddie grins.

Richie chuckles and dances his fingers down Eddie’s side. “Speaking of things that are too good to be true... I take it you’re feelin’ better?”

To demonstrate, Eddie wriggles his toes as much as the socks Richie loaned him allow, then flexes his ankle. “Much better.”

“Good enough to hoof it up to the house for dinner?” Richie checks. “The lord and lady of this land have commanded me to bear you hence! Well, not _commanded,_ but Bill and the missus wanna do the host thing, at least tonight. We can take off and do dinner just the two the rest of the time.”

“How could I resist a chance to see this so-called dungeon?”  
  


-

Despite being another performer like Richie, Bill’s wife Audra is clearly the more aloof personality of the pair. Not that she’s not gracious, exactly- she is a graceful, elegant figure slipping across the room in her silvery dress, an attentive listener, and a curious conversationalist- but from the moment Eddie and Richie arrive, she never lets them out of her sight. When Bill asks her if she’d like to select a few bottles for the evening while he’s cooking, she first insists he’d be the better judge as the chef and she’ll stay with the company, but then resorts to parading them both down to the wine cellar with her. When Bill calls into the parlor from the kitchen asking where the grater is, or if the red cloth napkins are in the laundry, she doesn’t pop into the other room to see if she can sort it out. She wavers at the connecting door, watching them with her sea colored eyes and directing Bill with her back turned to him. When Eddie excuses himself to sneeze another bug in the bathroom, she’s waiting in the hallway for him to reemerge.

Aside from her peculiar vigilance, Audra is perfectly welcoming. “I appreciate you gentlemen joining us. It can be so hard to convince my husband to take a break,” she says in her unplaceable purr.

Bill gives her a fondly chagrined smile as he lays a serving dish on the table.

“As a rule, I play as hard as I work,” says Richie.

Audra raises her glass to him. “What a good influence you’ll be.”

“Aww! Let’s not get off on the wrong foot, we just met and you say something so hurtful!”

The clash of Richie’s instinct to be both a suck up and a troublemaker charms their two hosts perfectly. Making fast friends is one of his many talents, of course. Eddie can’t help but admire Richie's most mysterious power and feel blessed to share in it. Warmth and the aroma of good food surround them as they make their plates and pour the wine.

“Bill loves to show off this recipe for American friends, but it’s a bit much for me,” Audra says of the chicken. She serves herself the lone fillet of fish. 

“They’re not big on g-garlic over here,” Bill explains.

Finally, Richie asks. “Are you from around these parts, Audra?” She doesn’t quite sound like it, and even his ear for accents must be stumped.

“Oh, I’m from _all_ over- my father was in the Royal Navy. But I like it here best,” she says. She immediately turns to Bill. “Did Bill tell you where he’s from?”

“Way he says his R’s told me,” says Richie.

“That and all his book jackets,” Eddie points out. “You’re from Massachusetts, aren’t you?”

Bill nods. “But I was almost from Maine.”

“Same thing, once upon a time.”

“T-that’s right!” Bill laughs. “You know your history.”

Eddie tempers his smile. “My corner of it, at least.”

“Well, my parents lived in Derry before I was born,” Bill tells them. “I might have g-grown up playing ball with you, if Ma hadn’t taken a job teaching piano at New England Conservatory.”

This is news to Richie, whose jaw hangs open in anticipation of a forkful of chicken. “What kinda crazy coincidence... You musta seen that on my acting résumé. Say, you didn’t pick me to steal my identity, didja?”

 _Snap_ go Bill’s fingers, like he’s been caught. “But I didn’t exp-p-pect you to be so tall!”

“Watch out, Eddie,” Richie nudges him. “If anything happens to me, call the police!”

“Maybe I’m in on it,” Eddie says, winking at Bill.

“Well the joke’s on you guys, my parents won’t pay a ransom again. They already fell for that in ‘74 when I said Patty Hearst got me!”

And so they go, all through dinner, round and around the table. They talk about home, about Blithelysea, books, and the best way to eat popcorn without getting your hands dirty (have a friend toss it at you). They all tell stories and drink and laugh at Richie’s jokes, but only Eddie gets his arm slung around the back of his chair. His very first _double date,_ he realizes at some point. He could get used to being Richie’s counterpart like this. He loves volleying Richie’s gags back at him. He loves the pet names. _The Duke of Derry over here, Mr. Maps, My Eddie._ For every teasing barb Eddie dishes, he makes sure to praise Richie in front of the others, so he knows Eddie is proud to be with him, too. He wishes he could bottle all this friendly atmosphere and keep it for later, but winds up drunk on it by the end of the night, not at all disappointed. 

Moonlight streams in through the open door of the manor’s impressive foyer as they say goodnight. Eddie tips into Richie’s side and his only marginally more steady arm wraps around him.

“Don’t let me break my ankle again,” Eddie laughs into his shoulder. 

Richie gives him a hearty jostle. “I got you.”

“It’s supposed to rain at some p-point tomorrow,” says Bill. “If it’s heavy in the morning, I’ll drive down the hill and pick you up, Rich.”

He doesn’t have a hat, but Richie brushes a salute off his imaginary brim anyway. “'Preciate that, Bill.”

Audra folds her hands in front of her, looking very much the part of a fine English lady seeing off her guests for the evening. “Do call if you need anything. The number for the house is by your phone.”

“You’re always w-welcome to walk right in,” Bill says.

Eddie nods. “Thank you.”

“Darling, it may be better for Mr. Kaspbrak to call ahead,” Audra amends, “-With his ankle?”

Bill defers to her concern with hands spread in an _of course_ gesture. “And if you need an um-b-brella or a jacket or anything, there’s a coat closet right here under the stairs,” he says. “Help y-yourself.”

“Bill.” Audra clears her throat and then steps aside. “Might as well give them an umbrella right away,” she says, cracking open the closet just enough to reach inside and pull one out. 

Richie takes it from her as though it’s a sword, turning it’s point up to the shining moonlight with reverence. “I’ll use this blade most justly, m’lady, for I am a good knight. Now I bid _thee-”_

Eddie rolls his eyes with a chuckle. “-Goodnight!”

"Goodnight guys!"

The umbrella does make a handy cane on their way down the hill, at least. Though it doesn't hurt as sharply as before, Eddie’s ankle is a little tender now those pills are wearing off. All the more reason to lean on Richie as they walk back to the cottage.

“Those two were a hoot, huh?”

Eddie squeezes Richie’s arm. “Probably they’re saying the same thing about us. Seems like you and Bill will get along great.”

“She was all right too, once she loosened up.”

“I don’t think she was expecting me.”

“Aww.” Richie fails to coordinate a kiss to the top of Eddie’s head, but the sentiment succeeds. “You _are_ an unexpected delight, Eddie my dear!”

“Is it just my imagination, or-” Eddie sighs, not knowing how to finish his thought unmagically.

Richie beats him to it. _“She’s a vampire!”_ he croons.

Eddie almost trips again, he laughs so suddenly. “Nooo! Couldn’t be!"

He’s a better witch than to miss _that._

“She didn’t show up until after sundown, she didn’t have the garlic chicken, and _vhere iz she_ v _rom?”_

“That’s not it at all!” Eddie laughs at Richie's butchering of the accent.

They stop where the road meets the stepping stone path to the cottage door and Richie takes hold of Eddie’s face, right there. “Well, you don’t have to worry about it. About people like that,” Richie says, more seriously. “Nothing’s gonna scare me off you.”

“Richie...”

Oh, how Eddie wants to tell him the truth. He settles for kissing him instead, and then hurrying him into the cottage for a snuggle before he can notice the loose stick from the wood pile that has suddenly taken wing.  
  
  


-  
  
  


Taking a midday nap didn’t help much to acclimate Eddie to the time zone, unfortunately. He wakes early the next morning, before the sun comes up. If he goes back to bed for a few hours his dreaming might finally overlap with Mother, but he’s a little too hungry to sleep. Careful not to disturb Richie, he slips out from the covers and tiptoes downstairs to the kitchen.

In preparation for guests, Bill has stocked up on bread and jam and there's even an electric kettle for tea in the morning. Eddie blearily makes himself some toast and stands at the sink to catch the crumbs, staring out the window. It’s hard to say what, with the rain and the fact that he left his glasses on the nightstand, but he sees something in the dark. Something too big to be a pet, but too short to be a person, moving up the hill.

Probably a sheep, he reasons. Or a deer. Fudge is always antagonizing them this time of year. Eddie heads back up to bed missing his cat, but finds his own sleepy dear waiting for him.

Richie holds out his arms and folds him back in. “Just had the craziest dream about you,” he mumbles, but he doesn’t share more than that before dozing off again.


	6. Chapter 6

It drizzles throughout the first full day in Blithelysea, but Eddie doesn’t mind so much. He gets the chance to thoroughly inspect all the houseplants in the cottage and peruse Bill’s library, in the morning. He gathers a pile of books and sets up camp in a room where there’s a mirror backed with real silver he can keep in view of, in case Mother might make an appearance that way. His reading goes undisturbed until Richie shows up for lunch, wearing borrowed rubber boots and offering sandwiches he made up at the house. 

“Should we heat these?” Richie asks, as he unwraps the wax paper. “I’m a melty cheese guy myself, but I didn’t want to to assume-“

“Mmm!” Eddie hops right to it, eager for a hot lunch. “I’ll light the fire,” he says, breaking away to the hearth in the sitting room.

Richie motions to the kitchen’s own oven. “I was just planning on using the broiler, boy scout!”

“Oh! Yeah.” Eddie keeps forgetting about the available appliances. He got caught looking for a candle or an oil lamp in the bathroom last night before Richie came and flipped the switch. “I just mean- wouldn’t it be nice to toast _us_ too?”

That makes Richie grin. “Fireside pillow picnic on the floor?” 

Eddie twinkles back at him. “That depends. Will you hog the pillows again?”

“If I do, you can sit on me and call it even!”

Well, that settles that. Eddie gets things kindling so they can make the most of Richie’s lunch hour. It’s his pleasure to warm Richie up between rainy excursions.

After puddle dodging back and forth to the pub for dinner, Richie returns the favor. They settle in with the radio and some evening reading, and Eddie nestled in front of him on the couch. He nuzzles Eddie back to room temperature and teases him for the way he traces his finger across the page as he reads each line.

“It keeps me accurate,” Eddie defends. Most any witch can tell you of some magical blunder they’ve made in missing a word out of a spell book.

“I don’t doubt that! Professional reader here, remember.” Just behind Eddie’s ear, Richie chuckles and kisses his neck. “It’s just the way you sweep your fingers off the page, like an angel strummin’ a harp. It's _beautiful_ the way your hands move. All the time.”

“Oh,” Eddie sighs. He trembles as Richie keeps pressing his neck with more _beautiful, lovely, angel._

Still, self-consciousness gets the better of Eddie as he continues reading. He tries to reign in his habitual flourishes. They’re another tell in what is now a swarm of clues to his precarious true nature. It’s only a matter of time until there’s a slip up that can’t be waved off or zipped away. Just this afternoon while Richie was working, Eddie’s suitcase decided it was tired of its charade and turned back into a trunk again. It took all of Eddie’s bodily, non magical might to drag it into the second bedroom where Richie won’t see it. 

While Eddie may be able to resist appearing too witchy, he can’t resist Richie. His adoration overwhelms him. Eddie’s book falls closed, and then to the floor as he twists in Richie’s arms to finally kiss him back. He runs his hands along the long winded, run on sentence of Richie’s body, to read him instead. The comma of a dimple, where he must pause, must kiss again. The inevitable exclamation when they lose their balance on the couch.

“Jesus, Eddie!”

“Should we go upstairs?”

Sure enough, when they get up there Richie makes another pointed observation.

“Aw, where’d the flowers go?” he asks as he watches Eddie circle around the bed. 

Eddie freezes for a moment, eyes darting to the windowsill and all the other spots he decluttered earlier. “I had to move them to the other room for now. I’ve been sneezy since we got here,” he says truthfully.

“Allergies,” Richie nods, as understanding as he can be.

Still, he must think Eddie is completely neurotic, asking him up here and then darting around as they change for bed, folding things, putting shoes in the hall, completely shutting drawers and doors.

When they’re just about to climb into bed, Eddie invents one last excuse to clean up. “Is the Tylenol still in your suitcase?” he asks. “I’m just a little sore.”

“Yeah, help yourself,” Richie says. He settles into bed and hums happily as he waits for Eddie to locate it. “Anything you need...”

“That’s all!”

Eddie throws back the pills and zips everything shut. That should be any bug sized items squared away. Now, where were they?

  
-  
  


Keeping their room tidy at night almost works! Everything appears to be as it should, first thing in the morning, when Eddie wakes to the sound of birds outside. Luckily he’s the first one downstairs to see that the top shelf of the pantry, located right below their room, has been flying around the kitchen all night. Cereal is scattered on the floor and every other flat surface, and a bag of chips and roll of paper towels batter at the door, making a pitiful crunching, bopping ruckus. Thank the stars the cans and jars on the next shelf were undisturbed by Eddie’s outbreak. Imagine if he’d _really_ gotten carried away last night and let Richie-

“Oh no,” Eddie covers his mouth. He turns and calls back up to Richie. “Uhm, dear!? Why don’t you stay put, and- and let me bring you breakfast in bed?” Worried, he turns and takes a few steps back up the stairs in case Richie’s already on his way, but his luxuriant morning chuckle is distinctly pillow muffled.

“Didn’t know this place came with its own butler. _Right ho, Jeeves!”_ he calls back.

Chasing away the new bugs with a broom gives Eddie something to do while he waits for tea to boil, at least.

Richie would be none the wiser to all this, if Eddie hadn’t propped it up against the door when he was done with it, out of habit. When he’s on his way out of the cottage for the morning, he points.

“You trying to barricade me in?” Richie teases. “Hate to let me go, eh?”

Eddie clutches the broom like someone who uses it only to sweep and never for transportation (he hopes). “You caught me,” he gulps up at Richie. “Why don’t you stay here? You and Bill can yodel your ghost stories up and down the hill to each other.”

Richie cups a hand around his mouth for echo. “Yodelay hee _boo!”_ he drones ghoulishly.

On second thought, Eddie opens the door for him. “Take it outside before you cause an avalanche,” he smirks. 

After he escorts Richie to work, Eddie resolves to make the most of the outdoors today. The weather has cleared and his ankle is better, and the English countryside is a fine place to be a witch. At the edges of every field and dirt road, there are wildflowers to pick and press for safekeeping. There are huge, intricate spider webs glistening with dew between fence posts. The wind carries the smell of the sea and the farms, and towering clouds sail through the sky like an armada. Eddie loses himself, laying in the field for hours, only moving to mark down formations in his diary. His pen smooths the edges of what he sees into symbols and everyday shapes, and his imagination fills in the rest. It’s a muddy line between aeromancy and daydreaming, but as long as he doesn’t try to act on his divinations he should be in the clear. There’s only one matter of concern to him, really, and he has no idea what a fur coat would have to do with it.

When the clouds break up, Eddie heads down to the village. He meets Richie there for lunch, then carries on, poking around the shops on his own. There are those pantry items he should replace- but he’d also like to get ingredients for a home cooked meal or two. The local restaurants are all well and good, but it would be nice to surprise Richie. Potions aren’t the only thing he can brew!

He saves exploring the Blithelysea shore for after dinner, when he and Richie can brave the way down the moonlit cliffs together. The wind whips at them as they follow a steep footpath through the dunes, hand in hand. There must be a better place to climb down, but without the daytime gaggle of locals to indicate it, this is as good a place as any. When they finally reach the sand they see some bold soul going for a night swim to the east, so they veer in the other direction. They walk the beach until they find a private cove carved by the sea, just for them. The strata of the rock even matches the stripes of Richie’s sweater.

“Had to call ahead on a conch shellephone to make this reservation” Richie jokes, shrugging his bag from his shoulder. He pulls out a thick woolen blanket for them to sit on, and unbundles it to reveal a bottle of wine in the middle.

“So _that’s_ why you wouldn’t drop the bag down ahead of us.” Eddie laughs and takes it from him.

Richie digs out a corkscrew and tosses that over, too. “Gotta drink it all, so there’s less weight when we climb back up!”

“Of course! It’ll be so much easier when we’re half drunk.”

They unfurl their blanket in the sand, then sit and dig their heels to pin down the edges. Without something heavy to post in the corners, the blanket keeps rippling beneath them like a magic carpet. They kick and laugh and meet in the middle, no more able to control the wind than their giddiness. Well, Eddie _could_ calm the wind, but why would he when it makes Richie brr his lips and wrap an arm around him? While he focuses on opening the wine, the wind dies down anyway. The blanket stops flapping against the sand, and the sound of lapping waves takes center stage. In and out they roll, setting a waltzing pace, rippling with the light of the stars.

Eddie takes a swig of the bottle and passes it to Richie. “If we camp out all night, we should see the Milky Way. It’s dark enough here.”

“Depending on the tide, if we camp out all night, I can hit the snooze button and _still_ get a bath in,” Richie points out.

Eddie giggles. It has been a bit of a struggle for him to get going on his morning routine, when there’s an Eddie-shaped incentive to ignore the clock laying in bed. “I think we should head back before that,” he says

“Why? You got a hot date?”

“Mhmm!” Eddie snags the wine bottle back. “He promised me breakfast in bed tomorrow in return for this morning.”

“Far out. But what if I raise you... dessert?”

“No good, I was already planning on baking you a cake tomorrow.”  
  
Richie looks at him like he just magicked up a kitten, and Eddie glances around to make sure he _didn’t._

“Whenever you wanna call it, darlin’!” Richie insists. “Who am I to get in the way of a baker’s beauty rest?”

With a pleased sigh, Eddie relaxes into his side. “You’re the one I like staying awake with,” he smiles. “That’s who.”

And so they do stay out late, until they can see the cloudy white arm of the galaxy emerge from the darkness. They’ve long since finished their wine by then. With Eddie cozied to his side, Richie tells how he and his father made up his own names for the constellations, like Bigbsy Digsby the Shovel (Who the heck uses a dipper these days?), and Susan’s Headband. Eddie gently corrects him, but thinks he may never forget Peepsqueak the North Star, so long as he lives.

Laying beside Richie, memorizing the lines on his face, he starts to wonder how long that might be. The more time Eddie spends away from the astral plane, the more toll the physical world will take on his body. He’ll never be sick like a mortal, but he’ll age and wither, and one day he’ll return to the beyond for the last time.

Would he like that? If he got to grow old with Richie, would he miss his eternal youth?

“Richie, I’d like to do this again,” Eddie tells him. “After this trip.”

He rolls onto his side to face Eddie. “Me too.”

“When you decide where you’d like to stay and record, I- I’d like to be there. I need to get Fudge first, but- anywhere you asked. I’d go with you _anywhere,”_ Eddie offers, hopeful heart trembling. “We could be together, if you wanted to.”

There are about a hundred things he’d have to figure out to make it work, but he’s never wanted anything like he wants Richie.

“Of course I want to,” Richie whispers, drawing close. He curls his hand at Eddie’s cheek. “Come with me.” By their matching, sharp inhale, it would seem neither of them can quite believe this is happening. “You know this is the real deal, right?” he asks.

 _“Yes.”_ Eddie marvels at Richie. “How does something as wonderful as this happen?” 

“By magic?”

Eddie shakes his head right into a kiss. _No._ Something even better.

As they endeavor to express just what it is, Eddie pulls him close. He throws his arms around his neck and draws him down to him, where Richie can feel his wanting, beating heart. Where they can forget that the night is chilly, and the wind is picking up again. Where neither sees or cares that a flock of seashells rise up from the beach and shake the sand off their wings.

-  
  


Before he can begin the cake he promised Richie, Eddie sets himself to the task of tidying up the kitchen. Putting the dried dishes and tea set away will free up some counter space, but the rain boots Richie borrowed are still kicking around where they can be tripped on. The kitchen is much too cozy to allow for such clutter, so when everything else has been put away, Eddie takes the boots back up the hill.

Hopefully Eddie can find a whisk while he’s at the house. Bill and Richie will be at work, ironing out the direction for one of the books on tape, but he said more than once that if they needed anything from the kitchen, they could just come in and take it.

Eddie knocks, at least, before pushing open the heavy front door. “Hello?” he calls, but not too loud, in case they’re recording notes upstairs somewhere.

It’s much darker inside the manor than he has come to expect from modern homes. The grand entryway relies on its windows rather than electricity, but at the moment the sun is on the wrong side of the building. Fudge wouldn’t be out of place, racing through the shadows to invite him in. Eddie waits for an uneasy moment, but there’s no answer.

Well, he won’t intrude for long. First things first, he crosses to the coat closet under the stairs. He pulls it open and starts leafing through the things hanging inside, looking for a bare spot of floor to place the boots. There are a number of shoes and boxes already nestled in the dark in an orderly row. Finally he finds an empty spot, beneath a dowdy old raincoat and a more fashionable, spotted fur coat. Eddie can’t resist stroking its sleeve as he straightens up from crouching to put the boots away. Fudge would be jealous.

A foot scrapes the marble floor behind Eddie, then.

“What are you doing?”

Eddie startles and accidentally pulls the heavy coat halfway off its hanger. He tries to correct it, looking back over his shoulder at Audra and her wide, accusing eyes. Finally, he’s taken the misstep she’s been waiting for.

“I-I just came up to return the rainboots. Clumsy me!”

Oh, _why_ won’t the shoulder hook properly!

Audra dives in and seizes the fur coat for herself, but she doesn’t try and hang it. Instead, she backs away from Eddie. “Bill thought I was being funny. Said I was imagining things...”

It’s an echo of the same conversation, the same instinctive suspicion he had had. Richie’s vampire joke was all wrong- Eddie laughed it off- but he shouldn’t have dismissed the otherworldly all together. Now Audra’s aura sparks off in a desperation that cuts through his resolve to not to use magic. She clings to her coat like it's far more than a luxury, like it's her _life._

“Oh! No!” Eddie puts his hands up in peace. “I’m not trying to steal your- uh! It’s your- you’re a _selkie,”_ he breathes in realization. “I didn’t know, I’m- I’m on vacation!”

“From being a scheming faerie?!”

Eddie bristles at the insult. “From being a witch!” he snaps back. 

Whatever Audra expected of him, this is a surprise. Fae folk are too proud not to claim their nature. 

“You’re a _witch?”_

“Shh, please!” Eddie turns away just long enough to glance up the stairs and check that no one else is listening up on the landing. “Richie _can’t_ know. I’m under a curse,” he admits in a whisper.

Audra fixes him with a shrewd look, recognizing the power he’s just handed her. With each aware of the other’s weakness, they’re on equal footing. She steps forward and silently hangs up her coat again, then points Eddie toward the library door for a more private discussion.

Within, thick carpet and deep shelves muffle Eddie’s continued explanation. Audra circles around him in the middle of the floor, as gliding and graceful as a creature in water. Now he knows how the spirits he summons into his own domain must have felt.

“I didn’t come here for anything but him,” he tells her. “I’ve never loved anyone before, let alone a mortal, but Mother forbade me to tell him! So I swore off magic to run away with him, or else I wouldn’t have blundered my way into your house. I’m sorry, Audra, I didn’t mean to scare you...”

She wafts to a stop and leans back against a bookshelf with a cryptic smile. “I understand,” she says. “I know how tricky it can be, balancing a magic life with a mortal love- and that’s without a curse.”

“Do you know anything about curses like that?” Eddie looks to her, imploring. “I have this- this sort of _breakout_ sometimes, when I’m with him. These pink wings appear on things, and fly off!” He flaps a hand, in anxious illustration. The confused tilt of Audra’s head doesn’t give him much hope, but he had to ask. “I lost two plates that way, this morning! Uhm. Sorry about that,” he apologizes. “It’s hard enough hiding it from Richie, but it could be so much worse if I really slipped up. Mother’s curse might carry _him_ off, and I’d never see him again!”

The delicate features of Audra’s face crumble into disappointment. “I’m afraid I’m only familiar with my own magic.”

“Oh.” Eddie stops wringing his hands and drops them to his sides. “I suppose she’s the only one who can stop it, then. I just haven’t been able to contact her since I left. She doesn’t have a phone, I don’t have a crystal ball, and we can’t seem to catch each other in mirrors or dreams...” Eddie shakes his head with a bitter laugh. “All my life if I ever had something to ask of her, she was already there, breathing down my neck!”

“Hmm.” Audra slips away from the bookshelf and starts pacing again. “And if she’s anything like my mother, I imagine your leaving didn’t make her any more amenable,” she reasons. Her fingers trail along a mantle, then the back of a chair, and a desk, where a globe and a stack of books sit beside a small bronze statue of a horse. She pauses there, then circles around to the back, where she pulls out a drawer and loose paper.

“I don’t think my writing a strongly worded letter to her will help,” Eddie chuckles.

But Audra starts filling out the page herself. Not words, but lines, arrows, triangles, and arches. She casts a clever glance up at Eddie. “How about a map to someone who can break almost any curse?”  
  


-  
  


Befitting a fairytale, a castle is the first sign that Eddie is one the right track with Audra’s map. He can see it from the road, in her borrowed car. It’s craggy, ruined peak points out the cloud that he’s supposed to follow until it reaches the woods. There, he must continue on foot, entering only between two trees that have grown into one. It takes almost an hour to find them, and Eddie regrets not parking closer. By the time he finds _whoever_ he’s looking for and gets back to the car and then Blithelysea, he’ll be lucky to beat Richie home from work, never mind bake him a cake.

Lack of expectation supposedly makes it easier to cross paths with this mysterious being, but perhaps a lack of lunch was a mistake. Eddie’s stomach growls, making it hard to pick out the sound of moving water he’s listening for. He gives over all his senses and follows the smell of lush plant life and the taste of the breeze as much as his hearing. When his footprints begin to glisten with gathering moisture, he knows he’s close to the last direction.

After one more mass of bushes, there’s a break in the trees. A waterfall trickles into a jewel green pool, making a golden, purple, pink mist rise into a rainbow. Very near here, on the other end. He just has to follow the bend, and he’ll find the help he needs. Unfortunately, that would seem to be up, beyond the waterfall. So, Eddie slings his shoulder bag around to his back, gets a grip on some protruding roots and climbs.

He follows the rainbow’s shimmer through brambles, over rocks, and another fork of the stream, until it seems to touchdown all around him. The air is sweet, sweeter than a candy shop, or music, or even a kiss. 

“Hello?” Eddie calls, as he turns on the spot, searching for something he doesn’t know the shape of. “Can you help me?”

All around him the wind hums, considering.

_I don’t see why I would._

Eddie stops, but he still sees nothing, still has no sense of the voice coming from any particular direction. “Have I done something wrong?” he asks, wondering if he’s committed yet another unwitting offense.

_No._

“Do you already know why I came?”

Something shifts in the corner of Eddie’s left eye, but when he turns to look, it's just a new beam of sunlight breaking through the leaves as the wind moves the trees.

_Because you are naïve, little witch._

“I know,” Eddie agrees. “I spent so long with ghosts, I’m only now finding out how little I know of life.”

_Welcome, then._

Did the voice just... smirk?

The beam of light travels across the forest floor toward Eddie, becoming brighter and bolder, until the ray of light is a glittering horn, a long white neck, and four slender legs. The unicorn stands before him as though weightless, with its mane flowing in ever moving curls.

“Thank you,” Eddie says, because there’s really no other reaction to have upon being greeted by such magnificence than gratitude. He twists the strap of his bag nervously as he beholds this living miracle, until he remembers why he came. “Uhm. I just want to ask... If you could break a curse like this?” Eddie quickly unzips the pocket and takes out that first pesky bottle bug. The unicorn doesn’t flinch as it flaps in a pink frenzy.

 _No_. _Because this is not a curse._

“My host’s kitchen would disagree,” Eddie insists. “There have been dozens! My mother was trying to protect me from mortals, but all this is doing is making it more likely I’ll be noticed!”

 _Little witch,_ the unicorn sighs kindly. _You have done this to yourself._

“What?”

_You have no need of me._

The sunlight coming through the forest canopy shifts again, going dim, and the bug in Eddie’s fist breaks free. He watches it escape up through the trees to the sky where clouds now roll in, smothering the rainbow. The shimmering sweet air dissipates, and when he looks back, the unicorn has vanished once more. 

Confusion washes through Eddie to paralytic effect.

That can’t be right.

He can’t have done this to himself.

He’s gone stretches without magic before while holed up at home, and nothing like _this_ happened! It was Mother and her hasty spell! Eddie surprised her with his intention to mingle with a mortal and she lashed out without thinking! That explained the haphazard effect.

_But who is he to contradict a unicorn?_

Eddie swings back and forth between these two notions on his way back to Blithelysea. If one is true, he has no hope of starting a new life with Richie until he confronts his mother. And if that’s not the case... then something else is very wrong. As far as Eddie can see, there’s only one way to find out for sure.

Richie has already left the manor by the time he returns to park the car, so Eddie plods down the hill to the cottage slowly, delaying the inevitable. He’ll never forgive himself if he gets this wrong. He winces as pushes the cottage door open, bracing himself for what may be the last happy sight of Richie he’ll ever have.

“Well hey, Gulliver! How were your travels?” Richie laughs. He tosses aside his book and jumps up from the couch. “Audra said you went for a drive.”

“Mhmm,” Eddie nods, still gritting his teeth. Only when Richie bounds over and gives him a kiss hello does he relax enough to get words out. “I needed to.”

“Believe me, I know the get up and go feeling!” Richie says, still bouncing. He claps his hands to Eddie’s shoulders, sharing a jolt of his excitement. “After getting the okay from Bill for a TV adaptation, I could probably rocket straight through the roof!”

“Hopefully not,” Eddie gulps, looking up at the rustic beams overhead. “But that’s wonderful, Richie. Really!”

As long as he doesn’t ruin everything for him in the next five minutes.

“No one I’d rather celebrate with,” Richie beams. “Great timing on that cake, baby!” 

Eddie squeaks a laugh for the nonexistent cake and takes hold of Richie’s wrist. “Why don’t you take a seat, and I’ll- I’ll conjure you a slice in just a minute,” he says as he leads him over to the couch.

Richie crashes back into the pillows with delight. “Mmm... Fancy another backwards date night? Maybe this time we’ll wind up barbecuing bananas in Brisbane!”

“I hope so,” Eddie smiles weakly, sinking into the seat beside him. He lets himself enjoy the warmth and comfort for just a moment. Instead of balling up his hands in anxiety, he lays them in Richie’s. “I meant what I said, Richie. I’d go anywhere with you... But I- I have to tell you something, first.”

That gets a smirk from Richie. “Should I get Jerry Springer on the phone?”

“I- I don’t know?” Eddie takes a shaky breath to prepare, then another, but maybe that’s just not possible. The more he tries to manage himself, the more upset he gets. There’s a watery feeling in his throat that will only get worse until he gets through this. “I’m so afraid what will happen,” he finally chokes out.

“Honey?” Richie’s expression drops. “You don’t hafta be. Not of me, I won’t hurt you, ever. And anything else- I’ll help you!” he swears. Next thing Eddie knows, Richie’s arms are around him. He folds Eddie in safely and kisses his cheek and rubs his back. 

“Oh, Richie. I love you,” Eddie sniffles into his shoulder.

“I love you too, sweetheart.” Richie squeezes him extra tight and chuckles. “Is that all? I know it’s been fast, Eddie, but life is short!”

Eddie shakes his head and pulls back. “Not for me!” he says. “I’m three hundred and thirty three years old. But I don’t think I lived a day until I met you.”

Like he’s waiting for a punchline, Richie only blinks. “I feel the same way, Eddie,” he says. “Like it's all been leading up to you, my whole life.”

The way Richie looks at him only makes Eddie more sure. Richie _loves_ him, and that’s as beautiful a thing as any. It deserves a chance to flourish, even if Eddie has to fight for it, has to rip magic itself apart to keep it. He’ll do whatever it takes.

“You all right?”

“Richie...” Eddie holds his gaze steadily. “I’m a witch. I’m a real live broom riding, cauldron stirring, dream weaving, cat keeping, spirit summoning witch!”

Nothing happens. No one bursts into flames, and every square inch of the room remains exactly as mundane as the moment before.

Overjoyed, Eddie tosses his arms around Richie again and kisses him, feels down his back, searching for anything unusual. No wings to whisk him away, just a solid, breathing, mortal body under his hands. There’s not a whiff of hesitation from Richie, either. Eddie might even call him lusty, the way he clings and rumbles in his ear.

“Mmm! Improv. How ‘bout I’m the knight again?” Richie says, nipping at his neck. “You can take me in with your _magic wiles.”_

“Oh dear...” 

This is what they get for indulging each other’s fanciful natures, delightful as that may be.

Eddie wedges them apart and slips back off the couch. As soon as he’s standing straight he raises a hand over his head, snaps his fingers, and cloaks himself in a shower of sparks. They trickle down over his head and form a tall, pointy hat. Puffy sleeves and a ruffled collar bloom from beneath his vest, which itself transforms into robes, dripping in talismans.

“Ho-lee smokes.” Richie stares, so unblinking that his eyes start to glass over. “You must not be impressed by my Rice Krispies wrist that predicts the rain, then.”

Finally! 

“But I _am,_ Richie.” The loose feeling of relief melts Eddie like a candle. He falls to his knees in front of Richie and takes his hands, gathering them to his chest. “I think you’re the most amazing man I’ve ever met, and I really do believe in you! I never lied about that- not about anything! I wanted to tell you, but Mother forbade me and I swore I wouldn’t do any magic while we were away, but then I started- _backfiring_ from holding it in, and-”

Richie holds up a finger. “Is this why you keep running off to the bathroom?”

Eddie nods, catching his breath. “I thought it was Mother’s curse! Audra did, too, but the unicorn said-”

“Audra’s a unicorn?” Richie squints.

“No, Audra’s a- well it’s not really my business to tell you,” Eddie stops himself. “But that’s why she was so put off by me, until I explained I wasn’t a faerie.”

Richie guffaws. “Ok _aaay._ Not gonna touch that...”

“Oh, I know this is a lot, Richie. Witches and faeries and curses and ghosts-”

“Ghosts?!”

Eddie clears his throat. “That’s my job, actually... I help them cross over.”

With an exasperated whistle, Richie flops back into the couch. “And that’s what you’ve been doing. For _hundreds_ of years.” 

“Yes...”

Richie rubs his forehead. “Gee whizz.”

Eddie stands and hovers nervously. “This doesn’t have to change anything. Not if you don’t want it to,” he says. “I’d give it all up to be with you. I just have to speak with my mother, one last time.”

Richie jerks and sits back up. “Eddie! Eddie baby, no,” he says. He scoops Eddie into his lap so suddenly that his hat falls off. “I love you exactly the way you are."

“Yeah?” Eddie thinks he may feel another bug coming on, but instead he just pops off a few innocuous bubbles.

“Of course.”

“Oh Richie!”

“You’re gonna get so sick of the jokes,” Richie promises. He tickles Eddie’s cheek with his nose and mustache until he coaxes a smile from it. “You’ll _witch_ you never met me. You’ll wanna hop on your broomstick for a _clean_ getaway!”

Eddie shakes his head. _“Never,”_ he promises back.

After another bubbly kiss, Richie gives Eddie a concerned jiggle. “Now, what’s up with your mom, huh?” 

“I don’t know,” Eddie frowns. “That’s why I’m worried. Her spell didn’t work, and that’s... Well, I don’t know what to think.”

“Then let’s give her a call,” Richie suggests easily. “I’m sure Bill won’t mind.”

Eddie grimaces. “We don’t have a phone at home.”

“I thought you worked out of the house?”

“As a witch not a switchboard!”

Richie narrows his eyes at Eddie. “What do witches usually use to hobnob?”

“Silver backed glass, dreams, a full moon reflected in still water, the usual. None of it’s worked.”

“Is it silly of me to ask after your crystal ball?”

That wins Richie a very fond eye roll. “Well, I couldn’t bring it with me,” Eddie explains. “What if you’d gone through my luggage looking for something?”

“Didn’t have to,” Richie grins. “You showed me your cute little undies all on your own!”

A blush burns Eddie’s face like a beacon.

Richie snickers to himself. “Well, if you can’t get a hold of her- what about a go-between? One of your ghosts?”

“Oh,” Eddie considers for a moment. “I never would have thought of that.”

It would have been a very clunky way for them to communicate in the past- after all, they share a summoning circle. One of his stragglers would be willing to haunt her, though. One of the talkative spirits that Eddie usually has to shake off so he can get through the rank and file lost souls. They might even get such a sense of accomplishment from the task that they finally cross over! There’s just one thing that Eddie needs.

He turns to Richie. “Don’t suppose you’ve seen any stone floors lately?” he asks. "I'd need it to make this work."

Richie’s eyes go wide. “The dungeon! Just let me get my shoes...”

Eddie snaps his fingers, and there they are, laced and ready to go. 

“Now you’re just showin’ off!”

“You started it,” Eddie says, bending to kiss Richie’s brilliant head. “Mind if we take the broom up the hill?”

“Like I’m gonna say no to that!”

It’s not a very impressive distance for their first outing, of course, so Eddie takes them for a few extra loops around the manor before landing. They get to appreciate the growth of ivy and the wrought iron balustrade, and even peek through the glass ceiling in the conservatory. They wave to Audra in a window, and by the time they arrive at the door she and Bill appear to greet them.

“I take it you’ve made some progress with your curse,” Audra says, eyeing them both.

Eddie is still soothing his ruffed collar from the flight while Richie holds the broom for him like a proud squire.

Bill scratches his head. “Is _that_ what’s going on?”

“Actually, there’s no curse.” Eddie clears his throat, a shade embarrassed. “Which means there’s something wrong with my mother’s magic.”

“She’s m-magic too?” Bill turns to Richie. “What about you?”

Richie pats his back as he comes through the door. “Just trying to keep up, Billy Boy! Same as you.”

Audra tugs her husband along. “If there’s anything we can do...”

“Richie had an idea to get in touch with Mother, but I would need to borrow your basement,” Eddie explains.

The group veers then, as Audra leads the way. They make their way down winding halls, lined with dour portraits that do nothing to ease Eddie’s sense of foreboding. He starts to feel sick to his stomach until Richie gets a hold of his hand.

“See, I told you they wouldn’t mind us using the long distance!”

Bill unlatches an ancient looking door for them with a kind smile. “That’s what f-friends are for!”

With the first friends of his life at his back, Eddie produces an orb of light so dazzling that they don’t bother to flip the light switch as they descend into the dark. Bill and Richie help to clear some space, and Audra unties the sash at her waist for a compass. She holds the centerpoint steady while Eddie draws his circles.

“Sorry we don’t have a hou-household ghost,” Bill apologizes. “Would have saved you some work.”

Audra chuckles at him from the floor. “We toured a haunted place when we were house shopping, but I wouldn’t let Bill buy it.”

“We usually can’t see them,” Bill motions to Richie. “But she says they’re d-distracting. Coming in, starting an interesting story over tea, then disappearing for a m-month. Complaining about the furniture.”

 _“Ghastly,”_ Richie fake shudders.

“Well, with my magic you should be able see this one,” Eddie says, clapping off the chalk as he stands up again. He gives Audra a hand as she carefully steps out of the circle. “Unless you’d rather not...?”

Audra shakes her head. “We’re with you.”

“Fair’s fair,” Richie says, giving him a nudge. “You tagged along to work with me!”

Eddie can’t argue that.

“All right. Just stay back,” he tells them.

The orb of light dissolves with one wave of his hand, and with the next, he begins the summoning, making his chalk lines glow green. That’s a good sign, since Eddie has never had to improvise like this before. This temporary circle will burn out before long, but it will work.

_“From around the world, I call another. Spirits, help me speak to Mother!”_

He thinks maybe Charlie the gossipy Victorian barber will answer his call, or Lillian Crawford, the ghost who likes to ask after Eddie’s garden. They’ll probably be feeling a little lonely since he’s been away the better part of a week.

Flamelike wisps of green begin to lick up from the floor, shaping a silhouette. Skirts at first, then a shawl hung between outstretched arms. A much shorter silhouette than Charlie, and slimmer than Lillian. Eddie’s eyes start to sting before he can fully comprehend why.

“My little moonbeam,” sighs the ghost. “I’ve missed you.”

_“Mother?”_

Behind Eddie, Richie and the Denbroughs gasp.

“You have to come home,” she says.

“Wh- what?” Eddie stammers. “Why!?”

He was dreading that something was wrong at home but when _this_ is the cause- 

“I can protect you here, Edward,” Mother pleads. “You belong with me.”

A tear falls from Eddie’s face and splashes in his summoner’s circle with a sizzle. “But- you’re _dead.”_

Mother's shape quavers. “That doesn’t matter.”

Eddie digs a hand into his hair and pulls. _For how long_ _has he been so blind?_ Since before he left Derry, certainly. That’s why her spell didn’t work. That’s why she couldn’t dream. That’s why she doesn’t change, or eat with him, or take any pleasure in life. How long has she watched him usher souls to their rest while tormenting her own by staying?

“Have you been gone... since Father?” he asks.

Mother takes a sharp, unnecessary breath- just a telling force of habit, at this point. “I couldn’t leave you alone,” she answers.

“You _have to,_ Mother. You have to move on,” Eddie tells her. He's had this talk so many times, the words come easy, but the wrenching in his heart doesn't. “You of all people _know_ it’s not right.”

Mother shrinks, burying her face in her hands. “How can this be? How could I leave you?” she weeps. “If I don’t stay, there will be no one left to care for you.”

Someone else’s footstep shifts across the stone floor. When Eddie looks over his shoulder, Richie has edged as close to the circle as he can without entering.

“That’s not true,” he says, in a gentle voice. “I’ll love him. I’ll look after him. I’ll care. I think we all will.”

The Denbroughs crowd closer. “He has f-friends,” says Bill.

“People who understand him,” Audra adds.

Eddie turns back to his mother, smiling despite his tears. “Please,” he says, holding out a hand to her. “I love you, and I will miss you. But I’m sure Father misses you, too.”

“Edward...”

“You don’t have to worry about me. I’m not alone.”

Mother’s hand tries to take his, but now it’s no more substantial than a breeze. As she comes to understand that her reason for staying will finally live beyond her, she fades. The green wisps around her grow higher, sparkling with the last of her magic, and then she’s gone.

Eddie steps back out of the summoning, and into the circle of his friends’ arms.  
  


-  
  
_  
  
  
-

They’re taking their time, zig zagging across the country to Nebraska, where Richie has some old friends with a ranch. He’ll be recording the books there while Eddie gets a chance to tour the Great Plains, but there’s no rush. It’ll be a few months before Richie and Bill get back to work. For now, Eddie savors every mile of the road. Fudge purrs in his lap while Richie argues with the car over the radio station. They stop at least one night in every state they pass through and cuddle all together, watching kooky small town cable. Eddie collects brochures from the hotel lobbies and picks out something new to explore, everyday. He scrapbooks placemats from their lunch stops, and keeps a diary of all the bizarre sandwiches Richie has him try. 

Somewhere in rural Tennessee, he waits at a picnic table. Fudge comes back from her nature break first, and then Richie comes around the corner of the restaurant, tray in hand.

“An Elvis for me, Elvis for you, aaand a tuna melt no tomato!”

Eddie raises an eyebrow at that last one. “To save for later? I’m warning you, the car will not appreciate the smell.”

Richie tsks and lays out the sandwiches in front of them. “For Fudge,” he says, and starts unwrapping the tuna for her.

Fudge leaps up onto the table, licking her chops. “What, no bacon?” she sniffs.

Eddie startles so hard he bangs his knees on the underside of the table. _“Fudge!?”_

Richie takes a sip of his soda. “Did you not know your cat talks?”

-

unicorn art by pinja [@luuseriklubi on twitter](https://twitter.com/luuseriklubi)

**Author's Note:**

> I post lots more reddie art (in better resolution, hah) on tumblr, twitter, and instagram @stitchyarts


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